


Holding Out for a Hero

by Wordsplat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Steve is the world's biggest martyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 100,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony was a prince and Steve was his manservant, they were young and reckless and hopelessly in love. But an attack on Tony's life convinces Steve that he can't protect Tony, so he leaves in the dead of night to train until he can. Ten years later, Steve returns to the kingdom a strong and able knight, but his king is both furious and broken-hearted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Tony, I know you can put on your own armor." Steve sighed fondly, though he stepped forward to begin strapping on the chest piece anyway.

They were in Tony's bedchamber. It was Tony's eighteenth birthday, and as such, he had a competition this afternoon to prove his worth as heir to Midgard's throne and officially accept the title of prince. He would have no trouble, Steve was certain; Tony was an incredibly talented swordfighter. They'd even sparred themselves a few times, though Steve was both scrawny and uncoordinated and had never stood a chance. Still. They'd had fun.

They'd known each other since they were children. Steve's mother had worked as a maid in the castle, and after his father's death she'd had to start bringing him to work. He'd wandered off within the first few moments of the first day, and bumped into a boy around his age with wild hair and a wilder grin. Without so much as pausing, the boy had grabbed his wrist and yanked him along with a shout of  _keep up, or Rhodey's gonna get us!_ They'd been running around together ever since.

Rhodey, Pepper and Happy, children of King Howard's court members, were a part of their close-knit group, but it was Steve and Tony who became inseparable. It was Steve Tony turned to at every pass, Steve he told everything, Steve he relied on. They'd been best friends since they were five years old, and when Steve's mother passed when he was twelve, it was Tony's shoulder he cried on. It was Tony who found a solution, who demanded to his father that Steve be made his manservant so Steve would have a place to live at the castle. As they'd grown, Steve had seen Tony take on every knight in the kingdom at one point or another—he was indeed a wonderful fighter, but he'd make an even better king someday.

"And deprive you of the pleasure?" Tony smirked, curling a hand around the back of Steve's neck.

"The pleasure," Steve murmured, leaning into the touch, "Was stripping you out of it."

They'd begun seeing each other on Tony's sixteenth birthday, when Steve had asked Tony what he wanted and Tony had grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him hard enough to bruise. It was treason, of course—Tony was to be king. He was to wed a woman, produce heirs, and rule over the country with someone strong and capable at his side. Steve could provide none of those things. He was a scrawny orphan of a poor bloodline, with little past and less of a future. He had no place in Tony's life but as his friend and servant. Their courtship was dangerous to Tony's future as king, and a secret so forbidden they couldn't even tell their friends.

Which had done nothing at all to stop Steve from kissing Tony back with fervor.

"Would you prefer I found someone else to assist me?" Tony arched a teasing eyebrow.

"I'd kill the man who tried to take my place." Steve kissed him sweetly.

Tony hummed happily into it, hands warm against Steve's neck. After a moment, he began to unbuckle his chest piece, and Steve laughed against his lips. He smacked Tony's shoulder in reprimand.

"The competition's in half an hour, stop undoing my progress."

"Oh, but I'm so sick." Tony faked a cough. "Deathly ill. Don't think I can make it."

"Well, if you're sick, I suppose I ought to leave you alone, let you rest up and get better…" Steve stepped back, playing along.

"Bed rest is very important." Tony caught him by the belt, tugged him closer. "But I'll need someone to keep me warm while I recover, and I know just the man."

"Go to your competition." Steve gave him a quick peck, going to pick up the belt for Tony's scabbard off the table.

"For to the victor go the spoils?" Tony waggled his eyebrows, giving Steve's backside a lingering, purposeful look.

"You know full well you'll get your 'spoils' win or lose," Steve corrected with a fond roll of his eyes. He stepped back over, tugging Tony to him. He looped the belt around Tony's waist, fastening it tight and kissing him softly when he'd finished. Eventually, he pulled back to grin. "But do try and win."

Once Tony was suited up and ready for the competition, Steve gave him one last good luck kiss before they headed out of Tony's chambers and into the hallway. Rhodey joined them along the way, clapping a hand to Tony's shoulder.

"Happy birthday, my liege."

"Oh, forget the formalities." Tony waved a hand at him. "Ready to get your ass handed to you?"

"Save it." Rhodey rolled his eyes with a grin. "Birthday or not you're going to have to fight for that title of yours, Stark."

"Like I couldn't take you any day of the week." Tony snorted.

Tony and Rhodey had been sparring regularly since they were children; Tony was better, but Rhodey was the only one besides King Howard who could give Tony a real run for his money. They turned down the hall, exiting the castle and heading out into the courtyard. When they entered the arena, the crowd erupted into cheers—Tony was beloved by his people. Once they began to die down, King Howard raised a hand, called for silence.

"Anthony." The King greeted with a nod of his head. "James."

Steve didn't merit an address from the King. He melted back as he was supposed to, leaving Tony's side and moving away to the healing tent. He watched from there as King Howard made his opening speech and paired the knights off. Tony was clearly impatient for his fight, though to anyone but Steve it would hardly be noticeable. He was good at masking things like that, after eighteen years of practice, but Steve had had nearly as long to figure him out.

Once Tony's first match ended, Steve waved him over. Tony shook his head. Steve shot him a hard look. Tony made a face, but complied.

"How in the hell do you get him to listen to you?" Rhodey marveled beside him.

"Oh, he doesn't listen to me," Steve dismissed it, "He's just doing what he's supposed to."

"Because Tony's so well known for doing what he's supposed to." Rhodey rolled his eyes with a wry smile. "It has nothing at all to do with heeding to your call like a wayward dog."

"I'm here, I'm here." Tony approached them before Steve could reply to Rhodey, taking Steve by the arm and leading him into the tent with a grouchy, "Well, come on you mother hen, hurry up, I've got another match soon."

Steve put Rhodey's comment out of his mind and tended to Tony's wounds. He'd done well in his first match and had no more bruises and scrapes than usual, nothing serious. Steve made him sit down anyway, wet a rag to clean him up with.

"Aw, leave it," Tony complained, "It makes me look tough."

"Hush," Steve just told him, dabbing the blood off his forehead.

Once he'd finished, he sent Tony off with a discrete squeeze of the shoulder for good luck. The rest of the fights went much the same, Tony refusing to come over until Steve insisted, but that was par for the course. It was only in the final fight that Tony sustained serious injury, a deep gash to his side. Steve felt the usual urge to go to Tony's side at once, help him walk to the tent, but restrained himself. It wasn't his place and even if it had been it would have made Tony look weak to the crowd he was supposed to be proving his worth to. None of that made Steve feel any better, of course, and the minute Tony entered the tent Steve gripped his shoulder tightly and forced him into a chair.

"Steve—" Tony started, but Steve shook his head sharply.

One of the healers moved forward to take over and Tony waved them away. Steve cleaned the gash out and bandaged him in silence, his hands lingering over the bloodied skin worriedly. He was careful in washing the blood off, trying to minimize any pain Tony felt from having the wound prodded at. After roughly ten minutes or so everyone was called to the arena for the victor's ceremony and the tent began to empty. Tony moved purposefully slow. When the last of the others left and they had the tent to themselves for a moment, Tony lowered his voice.

"I'm alright, darling. I can take a hit."

"I know," Steve answered, "Not my favorite thing to watch, but. I know."

Tony smiled, took his hand.

"Any last words before I officially become your prince?"

They couldn't kiss here—couldn't kiss anywhere that wasn't Tony's bedchamber with the door bolted, it was far too risky—but they could speak candidly without being overheard, if they were careful and quiet.

"You've always been my prince." Steve placed his other hand over Tony's.

"I'm terrified," Tony admitted softly.

"You're going to be wonderful," Steve told him earnestly, "And someday, you're going to be the best king this world's ever seen. I believe that with all my heart, Tony."

Tony couldn't quite manage to hide the fragility of his smile. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against Steve's chest. He took a deep breath. Steve could feel the shakiness of his exhale. Steve raised his hands to Tony's hair, ran them through it soothingly. Tony embraced him fully, clutching to him tightly for a long moment before releasing him to stand, separate. They couldn't stay that way any longer, someone was bound to come to retrieve Tony any minute now.

"I love you." Tony squeezed his hand once before letting go. "Happy two years."

"And I you." Steve smiled. "Happy two years."

The ceremony was long, and the celebration even longer; it was past nightfall when it ended. It was a glorious party and a delicious feast, and Tony had the time of his life, nerves apparently forgotten. By the end of it all, Tony was worn so thin he looked about ready to collapse into his food. Once they finally made it back to Tony's chambers, Steve expected a brief kiss goodnight and to be on his way so Tony could sleep it off. Instead, Tony pulled Steve into the room, shrugging out of his clothes and slipping off his shoes as he went, before falling right into bed and dragging Steve in after him by the wrist.

"Tony, I—"

"Just a few minutes." Tony was already curling up against Steve's chest like a cat, closing his eyes with a tired exhale.

"You know I can't stay."

It was all too likely someone would try and enter the chamber before one or both of them woke, and leave them with far too much explaining to do. Steve had only ever stayed the night once, their first time, when they'd been too tired afterwards and fallen asleep before either of them could consider the consequences. King Howard had come to retrieve Tony in the morning, and it was purely a miracle that the sound of the key unlocking the door had woken Steve in time for him to roll off the bed and hide underneath. They hadn't dared try again.

"I know, I just…" Tony opened his eyes again, his voice soft and small. Tony could ask him to walk off a cliff in that voice and Steve wouldn't hesitate. "I need you here, tonight. Just until I fall asleep. Please."

Future kings were taught not to say please; it displayed weakness. Utterances during their nights together aside, Steve could count on one hand the times he'd heard Tony say please and genuinely mean it. He was fairly certain he was the only person Tony had ever even said it to. He settled his arms around Tony in answer, pulling him closer and getting comfortable. Tony breathed an audible sigh of relief, of gratitude, before closing his eyes. He didn't open them again, his breathing evening out within moments. He must've been truly exhausted. Steve stayed long past when he could've left, reveling in the part of Tony that belonged so purely to him.

He'd been considering getting up when he heard someone try the door.

Steve couldn't be certain of the exact time, but he knew it was far beyond the time anyone should be awake and entering Tony's chambers. He roused Tony quickly and quietly, holding a finger to his lips. Tony nodded drowsily, then came to full attention as he heard the rattle of the knob as well. No one ought to be entering Tony's chambers this late to begin with, but the fact that they didn't seem to have a key made it all the more unnerving. As Steve slid off the bed and darted towards the table, he heard the sound of a key finally slotting into place. He quickly slipped into the shadows, his back against a wall; the room was dark enough that the intruder wouldn't see him coming, at least.

"Obie?" Tony's confused voice called. Steve wasn't at the right angle to see well enough to tell, but Tony could probably see by the light of the hallway. "It's the middle of the night."

"Yet you're awake." That was definitely the voice of King Howard's malicious advisor, Obadiah. Tony saw him as an uncle of sorts; Steve thought he was a snake. "Pity, that."

"What are you talking about?" Tony still sounded dazed.

"Let's not clutter this with smalltalk." Obadiah advanced across the room with purpose. Steve caught the glitter of a knife in his hand and stepped out of the shadows before Obadiah could get any farther.

"Back off," Steve growled.

"Have I ever mentioned how impossible your manservant is to separate from you?" Obadiah sneered to Tony over Steve's shoulder. "I've tried before, but he's like a damn dog with a bone. I think he's got a bit of a crush on you."

"What are you—?" Tony began.

"Save it." Obie sneered, then attacked.

Steve wasn't exactly well-trained, but he'd hoped he could at least manage to fend Obadiah off long enough for Tony to get to his sword. Obadiah was the King's advisor though, was skilled and had far more experience than Steve did—three quick moves and the handle end of the knife struck Steve's skull. He blacked out immediately.

* * *

When Steve woke, he was in the royal infirmary.

He'd been there a handful of times before—Tony was quite danger prone, no matter how much Steve tried to watch out for him—but never for his own injuries. He raised a hand to his throbbing head and felt dried blood. He looked around quickly, heart racing, before he spotted Tony just two beds over. He stood, sluggish—he must've been medicated—but determined, forcing his limbs to move towards Tony. He collapsed into a kneel at Tony's bedside, close enough now to take Tony's wrist.

He felt for a pulse and his very bones ached with relief when he found it, beating slowly but steadily. Tony was topless and bandaged heavily around the chest. Blood had still seeped through, but it looked old so Steve didn't think he was still bleeding. It was an horribly unsettling sight regardless. Tony had a long nick along his arm as well, though thankfully nothing else. Steve leaned forward, resting his head against Tony's side and giving a shaky, relieved exhale. His breath against Tony's skin made Tony stir; Steve raised his head and hand, stroking Tony's hair back soothingly.

"Sleep," he murmured. Tony settled again.

Steve left only briefly to use the chamberpot, but when he returned Tony was awake, sitting up and, predictably, making a scene. The healer was present too, shaking her head and trying to get Tony to lie back down. Steve assumed it was because Tony wanted out of the infirmary. He was wrong.

"—I don't know, I swear to you he was here a moment ago, but you must lie down my lord, you'll tear your wound open again—"

"Stop bothering with me and find him!" Tony ignored her completely, thrashing worse. "If he's been hurt by your negligence, I swear, I'll have you beheaded so fast it'll make your head spin right off of it's own accord—"

"That seems rather harsh." Steve stepped into the room, trying valiantly to hide a fond smile that Tony would worry over such a brief absence.

"Where in the hell have you been?" Tony demanded, but the relief was painfully visible on his face. Steve felt guilty for being pleased. "I thought Obie—Obadiah, I mean, he hit you, and you didn't wake up, and I saw a healer take you away last night but you weren't here when I woke up, and I, I thought…"

"I'm fine, my liege." Steve nodded his head, crossing the room. "Just left for a moment. Lie back down and stop giving the healer trouble for once, would you?"

"I thought you dead." Tony grit his teeth hard, overcompensating with anger to hide the fear in his voice.

"I assure you, I'm fine." Steve took a seat on the bed next to Tony's, opposite the healer. "Knocked around a bit, that's all."

"'Knocked around a bit', he says." Tony scowled. "The man was bludgeoned across the skull, and he wonders why I worry."

"What happened to him?" Steve directed his question to the healer. Tony would only give him half-truths and a bluster of 'I'm fine's.

"Lord Stane stabbed him in the chest." Steve liked the healer. No nonsense. Didn't even pause when Steve stopped breathing at her words, very professional. "Not deep, Prince Anthony killed him before he could, but it's deep enough that he's going to be on bed rest for a few weeks."

"And what am I supposed to do in here for weeks, hm?" Tony demanded, "Lay about? Do  _paperwork?_ I'll be fine within a day or two, surely—"

"Surely _not_ ," Steve insisted to him firmly, then thanked the healer, who stood to leave. "I'll watch over him now, ma'am. Thank you."

"Why do I even have a manservant?" Tony complained, "One more person telling me what to do all the damn time."

"As if you've ever listened to anyone else." The healer snorted on her way out.

There was a brief moment of silence after the door shut, before Tony's front of peeved distress broke, softened to relief. He smiled up at Steve tenderly.

"I don't think we're quite as subtle as we think we are."

"Perhaps not," Steve admitted, stroking a hand over his cheek.

"Pepper knows." Tony sighed. "Of course she does, Pepper knows everything. But. She came to me about it yesterday. Something about the fondness of my tone gave me away, apparently."

"And?"

"And Pepper may know everything, but that doesn't mean she's always right."

"I'm not sure that makes as much sense as you think it does."

"I love you, Steve." Tony rolled onto his side a bit to take Steve's hand, clasp it tightly. "You belong to me, and I to you. I won't give you up."

"What did Pepper say, exactly?"

"Nothing of import." Tony huffed. "Duty. Betrothal. Heirs. Other such boring matters."

"Your future, you mean."

"My prison."

"Don't be so ungrateful." Steve glanced around the thankfully empty room, then pressed a kiss to Tony's temple to soften his words. "You've been gifted, Tony. You have great power, and the wisdom and judgment to use it to it's full potential."

"I'm not arguing. I would like very much to be king one day; I'd like it more with you by my side."

"That's not possible."

"Men find their happiness with other men in my kingdom all the time, should their king not be allowed to do the same?"

"Not when he must produce an heir."

"So my second-cousin's child will take the throne after me." Tony sat up, pulled Steve's hands closer. "What do I care who follows me? They originate from the same line, they will rule just as well as any child of mine—"

"The Stark line has ruled for centuries, and with reason. You all rule wisely, with sure judgment and fair, intelligent minds. You can't damage the future of an entire kingdom for one man."

"Two men," Tony corrected insistently, a touch wistfully, "I want to be happy, Steve. My cousin is related, his line is just as noble—"

"It's not, and you know that."

"Marry me."

"I won't."

"Another life, another world—would you?" Tony demanded desperately, "Were it just you and me, would—"

"I'd accept your hand in a heartbeat, of course I would. You know that I would." Steve clasped Tony's hands in his tightly. "But that's not the world we live in."

"It could be."

"It's not right, Tony." Steve shook his head. "To run away from your responsibilities, your kingdom? I won't let you."

Guilt began to worm it's way into Steve's heart. He'd never begrudged Tony his destiny, not when Tony so thoroughly deserved it, but Steve had always assumed he could at least stay Tony's friend, his manservant if nothing else. What use was he if he couldn't even provide a proper distraction? Not yet a king, and Tony was already a target. He would only become more so in time, and he would need a manservant who could actually provide him with safety, with protection. It was his fault Tony was in this condition. If he'd have grabbed the sword—no. He knew nothing about how to wield a sword. He still would've been bested, Tony still would've been injured. Tony was everything he had, and Steve couldn't even keep him safe. What use was he to Tony like this?

And Steve knew Tony would let his weakness for Steve guide his decision. Tony had  _always_ let his weakness for Steve guide his decisions, proposing to him being a prime example. Tony would keep him on forever, and what if there was another attack? Another time Steve was helpless, and Tony died for it? No. Tony needed someone useful to be his guardian, and if Steve ever wanted a chance to be that, he needed to become more than he was now.

He waited until Tony fell asleep again. He glanced around to assure they were alone, then pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead before exiting the infirmary. He headed to his chambers, searching for a quill and some parchment. When he found it, he sat at his desk, dipped the tip of the quill in the ink, and began to write.

_My dearest Anthony,_

_First and foremost, I apologize. I failed you. It has become clear to me that I cannot protect you as I am now, and you deserve more than I can provide. Much as I love you, you must do what is right for your kingdom. You will marry someone else one day, and if you treat her with half as much love as you did me, she will be the luckiest woman alive. If I am to have a place in your future, it will be as your manservant and guardian; I cannot be that to you if I cannot protect you. I wish many things, but most of all, I wish to stay by your side. Unfortunately, to do so, I must leave it for a time. I am leaving to train, to become as strong as you need me to be. When I can protect you as you deserve, I will return to you. This I promise._

_I love you with all that I am._

_Steven Grant Rogers_

He folded the note up and tucked it within an envelope, writing Tony's full name on the front. He returned to the infirmary shortly, sat by Tony's side to tuck the note into Tony's shirt pocket. He stayed there a little longer, perhaps longer than he should have, saying his quiet goodbyes. He stoked Tony's hair back, and had a brief moment of doubt—then Tony stirred, made a distressed gasping noise that was clearly pain. His wound must've begun to ache again in his sleep.

This was Steve's fault, and staying would only give Stane and men like him a better opening at Tony. Leaving would open a space in Tony's life to be filled by someone stronger, more capable, until Steve was strong and capable enough to retake it himself.

It would only be a few years. Then, they could have the rest of their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Ten Years Later_ **

Tony recognized him immediately.

He'd gained at least a hundred pounds of muscle and a couple feet in height, but Tony would recognize the eyes that still haunted his dreams anywhere. He rode into the arena on a dark horse, covered in a knight's armor but without a helmet. Their eyes met across the field briefly and though he glanced away immediately, heading for the stables to dock his horse, Tony  _knew._

Steve had returned to him.

"Something wrong?" Bruce, two seats away, leaned in to ask. He must've caught the troubled look on Tony's face.

"It's nothing," Tony dismissed.

Bruce had never known Steve, had only come to work at the castle after Steve had vanished. He wouldn't know Steve came from a poor family, that his family line would never allow him to amount to anything more than a serving boy, but it was still best to wait. See how Steve wished this to play out.

"As you say, my liege." Bruce nodded, clearly unconvinced.

Bruce was his court mage, but more importantly one of his closest friends; in private, there were no pretenses of 'my liege' between them. However, they were presiding over the knight's arena at the moment, where any number of other court members or commoners could hear them and Bruce knew that in public he had to show his respect. He'd wring a real answer out of Tony later, certainly.

In the meantime, Tony waited for Steve to exit the stables. When he finally did, Tony stared at him pointedly, imploring him to look up again. He didn't. He walked straightaway to the sign-in table, where he checked in with all the others. He didn't seem to know anyone and didn't make much small talk, just ambled about and waited for the competition to begin.

Tony never took his eyes off him. Steve never looked anywhere even close to his direction.

"Daddy?"

Tony tore his eyes from Steve to answer his son.

"Yes, Peter?"

"When's it gonna start?" Peter fidgeted.

He was seven as of a month ago, and this would be his first time watching a knight's competition. He knew all of Midgard's knights, of course, they adored him and he them, but he'd been too young at the last one for Tony to bring him. Now, he sat in his chair at Tony's side, squirming eagerly.

"Soon." Tony pointed at the sign-in table. "See there? The last of the candidates are signing in. What happens then?"

"They…" Peter scrunched up his nose in thought, trying hard to remember. "Wave the flag?"

"That's right. They'll wave the flag at me and I'll—" Tony stopped himself; they were waving the flag as he spoke. "—I'll do this."

He stood, raised both hands; a hush fell over the crowd. He rattled off his usual speech, about the glory of battle and the honor of knighthood, about how pleased he was to see so many fine candidates this year. As always, he wished them no luck—a knight needs not luck, but skill. Steve still didn't look at him.

Once he'd finished, his current roster of knights stepped into the circle. Cheers erupted and they waved in greeting. Phil, Tony's head knight, made a similar speech, about how he would be watching each candidate carefully and that who would be chosen to join Midgard's knights would be determined by more than who won and who lost, but by what potential they displayed in the arena. However, he commented wryly, it certainly wouldn't hurt their chances to defeat a current knight.

The competition got underway and Peter nearly bounced out of his seat with excitement. As each fight became more intense, he leaned further and further out of his seat, eventually leaning so far he was halfway over the railing of their booth. Tony had to tug him back into his seat by the shirt four times.

"Behave yourself," Tony warned. Peter pouted.

"I remember someone else being rather excited at their first competition." Nick, his advisor, chuckled beside him. "Your father threatened to send you home if you didn't stay in your seat. The next time his back was turned, you leaned so far over the railing you fell right into the arena. Broke your arm, I believe."

"Don't encourage him." Tony sighed.

"I won't fall," Peter insisted.

"You almost certainly will," Tony disagreed, "You can see fine right where you are, Peter. You have the best seat in the arena, I don't know what you're fidgeting for—"

"I'm too short," Peter complained, "I can't see over the ledge."

"Come here." Tony gave in and gestured Peter over. Peter grinned widely in victory, clambering into Tony's lap. Tony sighed with fond exasperation, ruffling Peter's hair. "Better?"

"Yeah!" Peter still wiggled and leaned, but this way Tony was able to loop an arm around him to keep him secure.

Tony's current team was sweeping the competition; last year, they'd gone undefeated. They nearly did this year too, until Steve stepped forward. He was announced as Joseph Grant—as if Tony wouldn't know that was his father's name and his own middle name—and he dominated every challenger he faced. He took out three of Tony's knights in succession and without problem, though he was clearly both as honorable and merciful as Tony remembered: he didn't kill or severely injure a single opponent. Steve quickly became the odds-on favorite to win.

"Impressive," Nick murmured beside him.

"Very," Tony agreed, still watching Steve. Steve let Happy up, clapped a hand to his shoulder, then slung his sword back into its scabbard and walked off the field.

All without a single glance in Tony's direction.

"Maybe I ought to fight today after all." Tony turned to Nick. "The crowd likes this…Joseph, they like me, and we're both talented. A fight between us might really get them going, don't you think?"

"I'll have a messenger tell him your proposal." Nick nodded, gesturing for one of the messengers to come over. Tony winced at the word choice.

"It's not a proposal, it's a demand." Tony changed his mind. "I wish to fight him."

Nick studied him a moment, then shrugged and relayed it as such to the messenger.

"Why do you wanna fight him, Daddy?" Peter questioned.

"He seems strong," Tony told him, "Been a while since I've had a good fight."

And if he got to injure or severely maim the man who'd broken his heart, well.

That was just a bonus.

Another two rounds passed before the messenger returned, looking hesitant, a bit fidgety. Tony shot him a sharp look.

"And?"

"He says he will not fight his king, sir."

"Did you tell him it was not a request?"

"I did. He said that if his decision displeases you, he will leave, but he will not fight you."

"Tell him he has remarkably poor judgment," Tony snapped, "As if that's any surprise."

"Sir?" The messenger looked surprised. Tony sighed, waved a hand.

"Scratch it. Don't bother."

"Anthony?" Nick raised an eyebrow at him.

"Never mind it." Tony shook his head sharply.

"Is he a bad man, Daddy?" Peter quirked his head.

"No." Tony sighed, his heart twisting in his chest in ways it hadn't in years. Not since he was young and in love, so terribly young and so desperately in love. "No, Peter. He's not."

* * *

After the competition—which Steve won, handily—Tony was supposed to deliberate with his advisors about the selection of knights. He tried to delay it, but Nick gave him The Look so Tony forced himself to sit through it. The choices were obvious and Steve, of course, was at the top of the list regardless of what exactly that meant for Tony personally.

Did Steve want him to know he was back? He could. Announcing himself under a false name meant nothing; one had to have noble blood to become a knight and Steve was from a family of serfs and maids. He could be using the ruse only to become a knight and still fully intend to come to Tony later, explain himself. Tony had spent ten years imagining the wildest excuses for Steve leaving him that night, anything that wasn't a rejection, but even now he couldn't be sure. He hoped he'd stay strong, make Steve work for his forgiveness, but he knew that at the moment he was far more likely to break down sobbing, just grateful Steve was alive. He'd have to work on that before seeing him.

"Your highness?"

"Ah, yes." Tony lifted his head, cleared his thoughts. "What?"

"Does the final list please you?"

"Certainly. Shall we dismiss?"

"As you say."

Tony left abruptly. He was certain he heard one of the advisors mumbling to another, asking if Tony seemed distracted, but he put it out of his mind. He could do damage control later, if necessary. He had other priorities at the moment.

"Sir? Sir. Tony!"

Damn it.

Rhodey caught his shoulder, spun him back.

"Where're you rushing off to? You have to announce the knight's list."

"Phil can do that, he runs the guard—"

"And you run the knights." Rhodey frowned. "Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"It's nothing," Tony dismissed, "I don't feel quite well."

"Fair enough." Rhodey clapped a hand to his back, leading him in the direction of the courtyard where he'd be making the announcement. "Just finish this up, then you can get some rest. I still say you need a proper manservant; I'm just your knight, I can't always be running your schedule this way."

"If you don't like it, don't do it," Tony shot back, a touch waspishly.

"I jest." Rhodey raised his hands in a sign of innocence. "Well. About running your schedule."

"I'm not getting another manservant. Drop it."

He hadn't taken another manservant after Steve. It had been hard in the beginning, learning to do all the little things he'd always had a servant for as a child and Steve for later, but at first, he'd hoped. Steve had disappeared without a word to anyone, vanished without so much as a goodbye and Tony hadn't been able to make heads or tails of it. He'd worried desperately for Steve's safety, sent out search parties for miles and miles, organized his first expedition as prince in search of him. Eventually, he'd been forced by his father to call it off—too much manpower for a simple servant, he'd said, even one Tony considered a friend—so all Tony could do was hope. Hope that Steve would escape whoever had taken him, or change his mind if he'd left on his own, and return to him. Hope had blinded Tony for years and however irrational it was, Tony had felt that filling Steve's position would be too much like erasing him. Tony hadn't  _wanted_ the hole Steve had left in his life and heart to be filled. He'd wanted to mourn.

Still, Rhodey brought up the subject every couple months and Tony was usually able to deflect neatly, with grace. Today, however, he wasn't exactly feeling neat or graceful.

"Look, I know he was your friend, and he left rather abruptly—"

"He was bossy and stubborn and didn't know his place and one of him was more than enough trouble for one lifetime," Tony snapped, "I don't need another and I'm not getting another, Rhodey, so help me, drop the subject or I'll drop you from the knight's list."

It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but saying it still carried some gravity. Tony had never told Rhodey what Steve had been to him, though Rhodey probably suspected it. Considering what a mess he'd been for years after Steve's disappearance, Tony would be surprised if there was anyone in the kingdom who hadn't had their suspicions at one point or another.

"You're wound a little tight," Rhodey observed.

"Tired," Tony answered shortly, "And sick. After this, I wish to be left alone, understood?"

"Certainly."

Rhodey clearly didn't believe that he was tired or ill. Tony didn't much care. He exited the castle with Rhodey by his side and they waited at the top of the steps while the candidates and spectators gathered in the courtyard. As he waited, a plan formulated; actually, this could work. All the knights received living quarters at the castle. Usually Phil would show them about but maybe this year, Tony, benevolent and involved king that he was, could deign to do it himself. And if Steve was the last knight shown to his room, well. What were the odds?

Tony rattled off a short speech and an even shorter list of names; they had hundreds of soldiers in the guard, but the knights were exclusive. Their three new additions made for a total of nine: Phil, who doubled as leader of the guard, Rhodey, Happy, Clint, Natasha, Sam, James, Steve, and himself. The majority of competitors went home disappointed, but they were always welcome to join the guard, or try again the next year.

Tony watched for Steve in the crowd, and found him quickly; he was the one person not making eye contact with him. After the announcement, he said he would show the new knights to their living quarters and a pleasantly surprised murmur rippled through the crowd. Fine by him. The more goodwill the better. The knighting ritual would take place later that evening, before the feast. In the meantime, Tony called them forward. Sam and James took the steps two at a time, eager and in awe that Tony would take the time to do this for them. Steve followed behind at a normal pace, though he looked cautiously reluctant. He knew what Tony was playing at, then. Good.

"When's our first training day?" Sam questioned once they were inside.

"Sunrise tomorrow. You'll begin working with myself and the other knights immediately." Tony glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who  _still_ didn't meet his eyes. "James, 'Joseph'? Any questions?"

Steve shook his head mutely. James piped up.

"Oh, you can call me Bucky." James grinned, then, when Tony raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I mean, you can call me Bucky, sir? My lord? I've never spoken to a king before, I don't exactly know how to address you."

"Either is fine." Tony shook his head with a bit of a chuckle. "Within the castle walls, you're welcome to call me Tony. Outside, sir is sufficient. Where do you hail from, that you've never addressed a king?"

"Bandit kid, originally—" Bucky started, only for Sam to elbow him, hard. "I mean, uh, I was born into a family of noble lords who happened to—"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me, Bucky." Tony shot him a look over his shoulder. "I want talent from my knights, not bloodlines. Remind me later to tell you how Clint came to join us."

"Clint, the archer?" Sam seemed to recognize the name. Unsurprising; Clint, like many of Tony's knights, was revered in most circles.

"Yes. But once, he was Clint, the thief who stole from kings." Tony didn't need to look behind him to know the three were exchanging incredulous glances. "Outside these walls, tell the world what they need to hear. But knights are family—we won't lie to you, so don't lie to us. We live together, train together, fight together. If there's no trust between us, that falls apart."

"Us?" Sam seemed understandably surprised. Sam was truly from a noble family and Tony ran his knights differently than most. However, he also had the best knights in the land, so no one was exactly lining up calling for change.

"Us." Tony nodded. "I'm your king, but I'm also a knight. I fight every fight you do. Bit of a danger junkie, you'll learn. Sir Rhodes is the only reason I lived a day past eighteen."

Steve was silent behind him. Good. Let him feel guilty.

"Nice call, Joe." Bucky looped an arm around Steve.

"Call?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"He's been set on being your knight since the day I met him," Bucky explained. Steve frowned but didn't contradict. "Now I can see why. Didn't think we'd ever actually make it though, you wouldn't believe how scrawny this guy used to be."

"Can't imagine," Tony remarked dryly.

"Oh yeah. Tiny as hell, not a lick of muscle on him, but he took on my whole camp like a champ. It's how we met, actually. He was wandering through the woods, lost as all hell—"

"I wasn't lost—" Steve's mouth tightened. It was the first thing Tony had heard him say yet. He wasn't aware how desperately he'd missed Steve's voice until he heard it. Nine years ago, the sound of it would've turned Tony on his heel to kiss Steve in front of everyone. As it was, he kept silent.

"He was  _completely_ lost," Bucky interrupted Steve and Tony hated him for it, "Came crashing through camp one day itching for a fight, damn near got himself killed. They would've had his hide if I hadn't swooped in."

"I'm glad he had someone to watch out for him." Bucky probably didn't notice the tight sincerity in his voice, but Steve did. He finally looked at Tony, startled; it was Tony who looked away.

"Yeah, we've had each other's backs a while now, Sam too. Good thing you picked all three of us or I would've had to hole up outside the castle in protest."

"Bucky," Sam hissed, "Shut up."

"What?"

"He's the king, you moron." Sam elbowed him.

"The king can hear you," Tony mused.

"I'm sorry, my liege." Sam nodded his head formally. "He didn't grow up within any formal kingdom. His concept of respect is misguided at best."

"Hey—"

"It's alright." Tony shot them both a smile. "I've never been what you'd call a particularly formal king. As I said, Sam, call me Tony. Now, down this way is the banquet hall. I hope you're hungry; you'll be meeting the others here later tonight, and they don't take kindly to picky eaters."

"You were right, Joseph, I love it here already." Bucky eyed the banquet hall hungrily.

"Oh? Joseph's told you about the castle?" Tony arched an eyebrow at Steve, his voice carefully neutral. Steve didn't meet his eyes.

"I had a cousin who worked here once. He liked it very much."

"Is that so." It wasn't a question. Bull-fucking-shit the man standing before him was some  _cousin._

"Yes."

"And what was his name?"

"Steven Rogers." Steve looked anywhere but at Tony.

"You know he's been missing for near to a decade? That I've sent  _dozens_ of search parties looking for him?"

"Seems excessive." Steve's voice was small.

"Considering they didn't find him, I'd say it wasn't nearly enough."

"Is this Steve guy some kind of lord or something?" Bucky shot Steve a pointed glance. "Sure sounds like you put a hell of a lot of effort into looking for him."

"He wasn't a lord." Tony shook his head. "He was a friend. And he disappeared without a word to anyone."

"That's not true—" Tony heard the fire in Steve's voice he'd been missing and he whirled around.

"Isn't it? He told no one, left no forwarding address, not so much as a note, so I don't know where you get the idea—"

"He left a note—"

" _No_ , he didn't—"

"Of  _course_ he left a note!" Steve insisted fiercely.

"Then I don't know where the damn fool hid it because I searched both our chambers myself from top to bottom, had every squeaky floorboard turned up, every loose stone in the wall removed, and he left me nothing!"

"I—you didn't—" Steve looked horrified at that, distress written all over his face. "There was a note."

"Well, it wasn't found." Tony turned on his heel, led them down the hallway where they'd be staying without another word.

"Your cousin's kind of a total dick," Bucky muttered to Steve.

Tony felt bitterly, cruelly vindicated.

"One, two, three." Tony pointed out three doors at the end of the hallway. "Bucky, Sam, Joseph. The other doors lead to the other knight's chambers, though I doubt they're in at the moment. Get settled in, your knighting ceremony and following feast is at sundown."

Steve was first to disappear into his room. Bucky and Sam had a few more questions and Tony answered them impatiently, until they finished and retired to their rooms. He made straight for Steve's and…stopped. He held one hand aloft, ready to knock, but couldn't quite bring himself to. Ten years. Ten  _fucking_ years. Unexplained and without contact. What in the hell could he even say? He'd had so many questions over the years, but none of them seemed important anymore.

Who cared where he'd been or why he'd gone? He obviously hadn't been forced. He'd made the choice to leave Tony; what else mattered? Tony had lived and breathed denial for years, insisted to himself and everyone who would listen that Steve would be back. That they just had to wait. That he'd come back and explain himself and everything would be like it was supposed to be, Steve and Tony against the world again. He'd told himself that, the nights he'd dreamed of Steve. The nights he woke up with a phantom warmth to his back, when he could imagine for a split second nothing had ever changed. The nights he woke in a cold sweat, calling for someone that wouldn't ever come.

Then he'd taken in Peter. He wouldn't ever love someone like he'd loved Steve; he knew that. But a child…a child he could love. Did love. He adored Peter, always had. He'd found recovery and healing through his son and though he'd never stopped loving Steve, he'd accepted the loss of him.

Yet now he was back.

What a presumptuous bastard he was. Coming back into Tony's life after ten goddamn years, just like that. He hadn't come back when Tony had been forced into an engagement against his will, or when his fiancé had run off a few short weeks later—something Tony may have helped orchestrate, but that wasn't the point—or when his parents and then cousins died and he'd been forced to take the throne, still so young and so angry, still mourning so many people. Steve hadn't come back when Tony took in his cousin's child, became a father. Every time something had happened to Tony in the past ten years, he'd thought: maybe. Maybe this time. But Steve just kept him waiting.

Tony turned, walked away from the door without knocking.

It was Steve's turn to wait.

* * *

"With this sword." Tony tapped his sword to Bucky's shoulder. "I proclaim thee a knight of Midgard. Rise, Sir Barnes."

Bucky rose and bowed deeply as Tony had instructed him earlier, though he couldn't hide a wickedly proud grin. Tony stifled a chuckle, moving along the line to Sam. He was better than Clint, at least, who'd whooped loudly the moment he'd completed his bow. Sam accepted his knighthood with respect and grace, pride kept in his eyes instead of his features. Tony nodded to him, returning the respect. Steve was last.

Steve stepped forward, chin high. He couldn't avoid Tony's eyes now, didn't try, and they truly held each other's gaze for the first time in a decade. Steve didn't waver. Tony had always been able to read him; time hadn't changed that as much as he'd thought it might. He could see the guilt in Steve's eyes clear as day, as well as remorse for what Tony had gone through, but there was a certain sort of conviction there, too. Steve still felt he'd made the right decision, then. Damn him.

"Kneel," Tony commanded.

Steve knelt, never breaking his gaze. Tony was struck hard by the memory of the time they'd played at switching roles; Steve had commanded whatever he pleased of Tony _._ He could still feel Steve's hand in his hair as he gently pushed him down, still hear Steve's voice in his head like it was just yesterday. ' _Kneel, darling.' 'Steve, it doesn't work if you call me darling—' 'Did I say you could speak?' 'Now that's more like it.'_

He could see the memory reflected in Steve's eyes.

"With this sword." Tony touched it to Steve's shoulder. The name felt false on his tongue, but he didn't flinch. "I proclaim thee a knight of Midgard. Rise, Sir Grant."

Steve stood. He was more solid now and good foot taller; Tony had to look up to him. He wondered what it'd be like to kiss him this way. He shook the thought away. The ceremony finished without problem, Steve's gaze having returned to the floor. Once the court left and it was just him and the knights, Jarvis, Peter's manservant, led Peter in.

"Daddy!" Peter called, taking off across the room.

"Master Peter, what did I say about—" Jarvis began with a wry smile, but Tony waved it off.

"Oh, let him." Peter tackled him and Tony scooped him up. "C'mere, you. Peter, meet our new knights. Knights, Peter."

"My name is Peter Stark and I am to be your prince. Kneel!" Peter commanded to the newcomers with a grin, lifting his little chin high and earning a hoot of laughter and a kneel from just about everyone in the room. Tony wasn't watching everyone, though. He was watching Steve, who played along by kneeling though Tony could read the utter heartache in his face.

Tony knew he'd once been as spirited and impertinent as Peter was now, that Steve was looking at Peter and seeing the young Stark heir he'd first met so long ago. Tony could tell immediately that Steve thought Peter was his blood and he could've corrected him right off the bat, but. He wasn't ready to correct Steve's misinterpretations of his life. He was  _angry,_ was bitter and hurting and itching for a fight. Steve had given up on him.

Let him think Tony had done the same.


	3. Chapter 3

"'kay, 'kay, but watch." Clint grinned and waved a hand over Peter's face, not quite drunk but making his way there. "I can do a trick. Just gimme a gold piece."

"Daddy said not to give you any more money," Peter told Clint reproachfully, earning a laugh from around the table.

Only the knights were permitted to attend the feast. It was a night for them all to integrate, to bond with their new companions a bit before training tomorrow morning. Peter wasn't a knight, of course, but Tony didn't go anywhere without him except battle and meetings. The knights adored him, anyway.

"Indeed, a good policy for us all." Phil snorted.

"Just one piece, Peter, you're  _loaded,"_ Clint insisted.

"Don't listen to the scoundrel, Pete." Tony leaned across his armrest to stage whisper to a giggling Peter, "He'd rob us blind if we let him."

"You never did tell us how Clint went from thief to knight," Sam pointed out.

"Oh, you don't wanna hear  _that_ story," Clint protested. Sam and the others took to chanting 'story!' until Clint relented, "Fine, fine. It was a nice, sunny day, in the nice, sunny kingdom of Richgard—"

"Midgard, he means," Tony clarified in amusement.

"Schmwhatevergard," Clint slurred a bit, "Anyway. Sunny day. Rich city. Big score. I was travelling with this circus at the time—we'd get in good with the royals, skim off the treasury, disappear into the night—"

"What did you do for a circus?" Bucky eyed him.

"I shot apples off people's heads." Clint grinned. "Now, usually, I'd do a couple servants, maybe a brave as hell knight or two, then sneak off. No big, right? I offer to the kings too, but damn, never had one say yes before that son of bitch right there."

"Son of a queen, you watch your tongue." Tony grinned right back. Clint just laughed.

"Right, so he walks up to me before I even offer, tells me to give it a go on him. I ask if he's got a death wish, he just winks and says near-death experiences are all he's got to keep him warm at night." Tony pointedly didn't look at Steve, but he could feel the heat of his gaze regardless _._ "I figure hey, what the hell? It's not like I'm gonna miss. I shoot and damn, I tell you, we've got a hell of a king. Courageous bastard didn't even flinch."

Everyone took the story at face value. Tony had always been known for his thrill-seeking streak, but most knights had one and it wasn't as if he'd ever been  _actively_ trying to get himself killed. Comments like that were taken as an easy, light-hearted joke; ten years apart or not, Steve knew him better than that. He knew that comments like that, uttered blithely with a wink and a smile, were about as close to honest as Tony got. The others laughed at Clint's story and raised their goblets in a toast to their king's bravery, but Tony could feel Steve's knowing eyes on him. He continued the story instead.

"He went after the treasury once he thought I was too drunk to notice." Tony snorted. "But there's a reason I was able to get that drunk."

"I laid one finger on the door, and this one—" Clint gestured a thumb at Phil. "—damn near took my head off."

"Keep in mind," Tony told Sam and the others hearing the story for the first time, "Phil wasn't head of the guard then, but damn if he hasn't always been the best hand-to-hand guy I've got. Usually takes him maybe three moves, and his opponent's unconscious."

"I," Clint declared proudly, "Took nineteen."

"Sixteen." Phil snorted.

"Nineteen."

"Sixteen."

"Boys." Natasha gave an exasperated sigh.

"Point being, Clint almost wiped the floor with my best man—" Tony started. Phil frowned.

"Wiped the floor seems like an exaggeration—"

"So of course I had to look into him." Tony shrugged. "He piqued my interest. I put him up for the night while I had him looked into—"

"You invited a known thief who nearly shot you in the head into your home because he  _piqued your interest?"_ Steve demanded incredulously, and oh, were they talking now?

"Panned out, didn't it?" Tony remarked coolly.

"That 'known thief' is sitting right here, by the way." Clint waved a hand at Steve with a smirk. "Don't go getting too cocky there, rookie. Even a thief knows the value of honor; I serve my king with pride."

"A thief with honor? Now I've seen it all." Steve raised an eyebrow in challenge. Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. What was he challenging Clint for? Steve wasn't the type to start a fight without reason.

"If it's a fight you're looking for, look no further." Clint flashed Steve a grin, all teeth. "First thing tomorrow I'll show you the kind of knight our king wants at his back."

"And I'll show you the kind he ought to have," Steve replied with a smirk, his gaze flickering to Tony briefly. So that's what this was, then. Some kind of pissing contest to prove his worth. Ten years and Steve hadn't changed in the slightest. Always trying to prove himself, as if he didn't know all Tony had ever wanted was his presence. "Will you watch?"

Steve's tone was carefully clear of any telling emotion, but Tony didn't need that to read him. Steve's hope was all in his eyes.

"I attend all training sessions," Tony answered dismissively. He leaned over to help Peter cut the last bit of his steak, focusing his attention there instead of on Steve. "I lead the knights. If they meet, so do I."

"I can  _do_  it," Peter insisted to him, pushing Tony's hand away.

"Sure you can. I can simply do it faster," he teased.

"Nu-uh!" Peter cut his bites up a little quicker.

Under the table, Natasha kicked him. Tony shot her a disgruntled look. She narrowed her eyes at him, glancing pointedly over at Steve, who had returned to his food in silence, then back at Tony, then raising an eyebrow. It was a clear demand in Natasha-ese for answers. Tony shook his head once, subtly. Natasha snorted not-so-subtly, but the table had already moved past Steve's antagonism of Clint and on to the validity of Clint's chosen weapon as a blunt instrument in close-combat.

"You need to apply more force, certainly," Phil commented, "But it's not impractical."

"But you can't exactly kill anyone with it, no matter how much force you apply," Sam disagreed.

"Which makes me all the better in non-lethal matches," Clint argued, "I'm more accustomed to methods that don't jump straight to slicing someone's head off."

"Hardly useful in a war." Rhodey snorted.

"But we're not at war," Natasha reminded him, "Haven't been in a long time."

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared." Rhodey frowned at the casual way she said it.

"It's impractical to assume such peace should last, yes, but that doesn't negate the usefulness of other tactics," Tony reminded him, "So long as Clint maintains his sword training on the occasions he should need to use one, as he has, I see no reason he ought to be forced into carrying around a sword he does not prefer to use."

"And if an intruder with intent on your life broke past the other defenses and Sir Barton were left to fend him off with only a bow and the intruder had a sword, what then?" Steve contributed, directing the question at Tony.

"If I didn't know better, Sir Grant, I'd think you had designs on my life the way you talk." Tony eyed him. Clint was glaring daggers at Steve; Tony appeased him. "Clint could handle himself against the most proficient swordsman with only a bow, it is a feat I have seen myself and I entrust my life to him secure in that knowledge. But it seems you're quite set on worst case scenarios, aren't you?"

"I feel better when I'm prepared for them, yes," Steve answered stiffly.

"Then rest assured, for I can defend myself." Tony smiled but it rang false, all sharp edges and challenge. "Or perhaps you haven't heard of the events of my eighteenth birthday."

"I know of them." Steve's voice was subdued, the anger in his eyes only for Tony to see.

"Then you know that though I trust my knights implicitly, I am my own final line of defense and you need not concern yourself with my safety."

"I know that you were injured gravely."

"Yet I prevailed."

"You would've prevailed uninjured if you'd had someone capable guarding you."

"You dare imply that I'm incapable of defending our King?" Clint demanded with a snarl, "Know your place, rookie, or I am more than happy to show it to you—"

"He meant my former guard." Tony raised a hand to Clint, silencing him, though his sight never left Steve as he growled out a response, "Who was certainly capable enough to buy me the time to get to my sword—"

"Who was taken out in a flat second—"

"His presence was the  _single thing_  that saved my life that night, don't you  _dare_ speak ill of him to my face—"

"Sir Grant." Rhodey's voice, sharp and forceful, cut through their building argument. "The guard you speak of was a personal friend of both the King and myself, and a hero for his actions at that. It would be best if you did not speak of him at all, but if you must, you will speak with respect. Is that understood?"

Steve looked slightly shocked, but answered compliantly after only a moment, "Indeed, Sir Rhodes."

"If you doubt my capabilities," Tony began mildly, because he never did know when to leave well enough alone, "I would be more than happy to provide you with a demonstration."

"I've no desire to fight you," Steve told him, weariness evident in his voice.

"Oh, but I quite wish to fight you." Tony leaned forward. "Perhaps tomorrow, after your match with Sir Barton."

"I'd rather not."

"You mistake my demand for a question."

"I will not hold a sword against you," Steve told him stubbornly, "You are my King."

"Then a spar is of no concern, for I'll disarm you long before you have the chance to."

"I will leave the kingdom before I fight you, my liege." Steve met Tony's gaze without hesitance.

"I suppose you would." Tony snorted, an ugly, bitter sound. "It's what your 'family' does best, isn't it? Run away?"

"He left for good cause," Steve grit out.

"Pray tell, Sir  _Grant_ , I've been waiting quite a while to hear this particular excuse."

"It's no  _excuse_ , which you would know had you read his note."

"He didn't leave any damn note," Tony hissed.

"He did,"Steve insisted just as fiercely, "He told me quite specifically that he did, in his beloved's shirt."

"Funny, I wasn't aware he  _had_ a beloved," Tony taunted, "Most people don't abandon theirs so easily."

Steve grit his teeth. His nostrils flared, a sure sign he was trying to tamp down his anger and beginning to fail. He was more of a hothead than people suspected; it had gotten him in trouble more than once, though Tony couldn't ever recall having it directed at him before, not genuinely. But then, he'd never denied Steve to his face before either. It was a cruel taunt and the hurt in Steve's eyes was painful to see no matter how much Tony had been certain he'd wanted to cause it.

"It was  _not_  easy." Steve's hands clenched to fists. He moved them under the table. "It was the single hardest thing he ever had to do."

"Ever  _chose_ to do," Tony spat back.

"Perceive it as you like," Steve grit out, "He did what needed to be done."

"He was a fucking coward." Tony sneered. "He did what he wanted."

"How could you  _ever_ think that was what he wanted?" Steve demanded, "He was miserable, was completely,  _utterly_ miserable—he spent every moment of it wishing for a future he could never have, dreaming of a past he could never return to, and he  _tortured_ himself over it. He felt like the lowest scum to ever scrape across the earth, but he kept going because it meant the person he loved most in the world would be safe and that would  _always_ be more important than  _anything_  else."

The knights, who had previously been uncomfortably doing their best ignore the argument breaking out, were now unashamedly staring at them. Though Tony craved nothing more to drag Steve away, speak in private and demand his answers, he knew exactly how it would look. How it already looked.

"I may be your fellow knight,  _Grant,"_ Tony hissed, drawing himself up with all the control and command he was known for, "But I am also your King and I would advise you not to forget who it is you speak to."

There was a part of him that wanted Steve to ignore the warning and barrel forward, damn the consequences. Once, far too long ago, he might have. Instead, he simply drew in a deep breath before bowing his head low.

"Apologies, my liege." Tony had never hated the title more than on Steve's lips at that very moment. "My cousin is as sore a spot for me as he is for you, it seems. Perhaps the past is simply best left there."

"For the moment." Tony narrowed his eyes. If Steve thought they were done discussing this, he was out of his mind.

"Cousin? That's what this is?" Happy frowned, finally finding a place to interject. "Sir Grant, you're related to Steve?"

"Steve Rogers?" Peter, who'd been slouched next to Tony in a show of bored disinterest for the argument, perked up. He leaned across the table eagerly. "You know him?"

"Peter—" Tony started.

"How do you know of him?" Steve cut him off to ask Peter incredulously.

"Daddy talks about him." Peter dismissed Steve's question as if it were obvious, which to him it likely was. Tony had told Peter stories of Steve since he was just a baby. Steve, however, looked some mix of stunned and horrified. "Can you find him?"

"He talks about him?" Steve only repeated.

"You're still telling Peter those stories?" Rhodey shot Tony a disapproving look, but before Tony could say anything Steve jumped on that too.

"What stories?"

"Don't you know?" Peter quirked his head. "Steve's the hero that saved Daddy."

"I really don't think the Steve conversation is one we should be having at the table—" Phil began.

"I agree completely." Tony concluded, not eager for Peter to tell Steve any more than he already had. "Peter, finish your dinner."

It was sort of—alright, entirely—Tony's fault. When Tony had first taken Peter into his care, he'd only been twenty-two. The loss of Steve had still stung and the hope for his return hadn't yet died, so in lieu of bedtime stories Tony had told his new son tales of Steve, The Lost Hero. He'd put a few fantastical spins on the adventures he and Steve had gone on over the years, all true though somewhat exaggerated for a child's ears, and relayed them to Peter. The stories culminated in how Steve had saved Tony's life one last time only to be stolen away in the night by dark magic. Tony had added the addendum that it was "fated" for the Lost Hero to return when the kingdom needed him most; it was a child's story, after all, and if Tony had perhaps needed the hope as well, Peter was none the wiser.

Steve was a fairytale character to Peter. He'd grown up listening to such stories in rapture, envisioning Steve as a hero to be admired, someone to be like when he grew up. Tony liked that. Everyone else had always been so eager to forget about Steve and Tony could hardly say much about him to an adult without betraying the true nature of their relationship. With Peter, he could hold on to those memories. He liked that Peter worshipped Steve; Tony certainly always had.

The flighty bastard himself, however, didn't need to know that.

"But Daddy, he knows Steve!" Peter barreled onward excitedly anyway, his attention on Steve once again. "He's your cousin, right? D'you talk to him? Could you tell him to come home? You should tell him I wanna meet him, I bet he'd at least come visit then, Daddy says he'd really like me if he—"

"That's enough about Steve, Peter." Tony placed a firm hand on Peter's shoulder, forced him to sit back in his seat. "Leave Sir Grant be, he won't help you."

"I can't," Steve corrected and it was a lie, it was  _such_ a lie, but one thing melted a hint of the anger Tony felt towards him: he wasn't directing the lie at Tony, but at Peter. He was only trying to cheer up Peter, who had slumped in his chair again with a look of moody rebellion. "I'd love to help you, Peter, but I don't know where he is or how to reach him."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, more dejected now than sullen.

"I think you're finished eating now, aren't you?" Tony decided, taking a look at Peter's mostly empty plate. "It's getting late, it's about time a certain someone went to bed."

"But Da-ad—" Peter began to complain. He looked quite startled when it turned into a yawn. The knights laughed.

"Sounds like bedtime to me." Tony chuckled, rising from his seat and holding out a hand to Peter. "Come on."

"Can you at least tell me a Steve story?" Peter asked plaintively as he wriggled out of his chair, already rubbing at his eyes.

"I—well." Tony pointedly didn't turn back to look at Steve. "Alright."

"The one where he caught the bandits in the trap?"

"If you'd like."

* * *

"Apologies for that, Joseph, Steve is a bit of a…touchy subject." Rhodey leaned forward, putting his head in his hands with a weary, contemplative sigh. "Jesus, I can't believe he's still telling those damn stories. I thought he…damn it all."

Steve's mind was still reeling.

No. That wasn't what was supposed to— _no._ Being in Midgard again was painful enough. Seeing Tony again after so long…God Almighty, Tony. He looked so much wearier than when Steve had seen him last, old beyond even his near twenty-eight years. Steve was unsurprised to find he'd grown ever more handsome in that time, the innocence and youth of his features giving way to experience and wisdom. He was as strong-willed as ever, though Tony the man carried his rage with far more fearsome command than Tony the boy.

Even as Tony had spat poison at him, Steve had ached to reach out to him. It was nothing new, but the immensity of the desire had hit Steve low and hard regardless; he'd hoped time might have cooled his impulsivity regarding Tony, but it'd been a naïve hope. He was as drawn to Tony as when he'd left, perhaps more so. Missing him so desperately and for so long only to have him here again and close enough to touch was the most exquisite torture, but Steve had endured it for a reason.

Tony was supposed to have moved on. He was supposed to have made a family and rarely think of Steve again. It was why he'd waited so long to return, so they could start over as friends. He knew how laughably, naively idealistic that sounded, but they'd been friends before anything else and he'd been so, so certain they could return to that. Even when they'd been together, the romance had only been another facet of an existing relationship; he'd miss that aspect like it was a damn body part, of course he would, but it wasn't what he  _needed_. He needed Tony. Not kissing Tony, not sex with Tony—as blissfully enjoyable as it all had been—just Tony. He'd never meant for Tony to hold on this long.

God. Tony told his son _stories_  of Steve. Tony had convinced his son—the son he'd had with the woman he'd married, the Queen for God's sake—that Steve was some sort of hero. This was all wrong. This was all so horribly, horribly wrong. Steve had wanted to be remembered, yes, but as a vague, fond memory overshadowed by Tony's bright and happy future with his wife, his child, his kingdom. He'd left precisely so that he  _wouldn't_ hold Tony back, so that Tony might have the life he deserved, a life free of Steve's complications.

Where had he gone wrong?

"We don't usually discuss dead men at the table." Clint shot Steve a look that implied he clearly found this all to be Steve's fault. It was, of course, but not for the reasons Clint probably thought.

"Don't let him catch you saying that," Phil warned Clint sharply, glancing at the door.

"I thought this Steve was alive?" Sam shot a small glance Steve's way. Thankfully nobody seemed to catch it, though Steve wished he'd be more careful.

"Opinions vary," Happy told him before turning to Steve, "Regardless, if you do have some way of contacting your cousin? Keep it to yourself."

"Definitely. He's particularly touchy today, probably because you bear some passing familial resemblance to Steve, but most days…" Rhodey sighed again. "He's getting better. It doesn't look like it, I know, but he is."

"This all happened a decade ago," Steve tried to insist, because Tony should be  _long_ past this, should've forgotten all about Steve ages ago. He was married, for God's sake, what could the Queen think of Tony telling Peter stories of  _him?_ "How could he even still remember some servant?"

There was a moment of silence, before Clint leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Steve curiously. "It's as if you  _want_ him to execute you."

"Clint." Phil shot him a reprimanding glare before assuring Steve, "He wouldn't execute you. Our King is not a man to leap to execution out of anger, or spite, though Clint is right that you're certainly trying your hardest."

"What did I—?"

"Don't call Steve 'some servant'." Happy made an impatient face at him. It was a familiar look, though Steve couldn't recall it ever being directed at him before. It'd always been Tony who tried Happy's patience to the point of fond exasperation. There was no fondness in Happy's expression now, however; clearly Tony was the only one who'd recognized him. Whether or not he would tell Happy and Rhodey, only time would tell. "If you haven't yet realized, Steve still bears a fair amount of importance to the King."

"And that is not something that leaves this room." Rhodey narrowed his eyes at Bucky, Sam, and Steve each in turn. "We pick up on information like that because we are close enough to the King that he does not guard his every thought from us. He does this because he trusts us; you are knights now and you are above such petty things as gossip. If I catch any one of you discussing this, or any other such tender matters with men who are not your brother knights, the punishment will not be merciful."

"Yessir," they responded as one.

"So long as we're clear." Rhodey nodded, satisfied. "In the future, Joseph, try to avoid the subject of your cousin. It's false hope and it's cruel."

"Just who  _is_ Steve to the king?" Bucky had a look of innocent confusion on his face, though it would only ring false to Steve. He shot a subtle glare at the side of Bucky's head. Bucky avoided eye contact with him.

He knew full well who Steve was, just like he knew full well who Steve was to Tony. It'd taken some time to trust him, but Bucky had been by Steve's side since very early on in his travels and they'd saved each other's lives a dozen times over. Steve trusted him implicitly and had told him both his real name and why he was so intent on his training. Sam had joined them a few years later. He was the one who'd suggested Steve become a knight, since some Kings had knights as their personal guardians, and later helped Steve and Bucky to sort of the details of the process as well as fake their royal seals.

"Steve Rogers was a friend of ours," Happy told them, "Well, Rhodey and I. We all grew up in the castle together, but it was the King he was close to. Became his personal manservant when they were eleven or twelve."

"He left the castle on Tony's eighteenth birthday without telling a soul, immediately after an attempt was made on Tony's life. There've always been rumors about how connected those two events are, if Steve might have tipped the attacker off or something—" It burned Steve to stay silent. Rhodey continued. "—but Tony won't hear of it. I believe him. Many don't. Regardless, Tony never got over the breach of trust."

"What breach?" Steve couldn't help asking. "He could never believe Steve really assisted with an assassination attempt—"

"Of course not. But Steve and the King…" Rhodey fell silent a moment. "They were hard to describe. Hard to separate, too. They knew each other all their lives; you never saw one without the other. They were closer than any two people I've ever seen, yet Steve left him without a word. It broke him in ways I'm not sure are even reparable."

Bucky was giving him The Look. He'd always railed for Steve to go back, always insisted that Steve was being dumb and that Tony would want him around whether or not Steve could defend him. Steve knew that, of course, he'd never doubted that Tony loved him; it was that love that had been precisely the problem. Tony had always been so ready to disregard everything for Steve. He'd been willing to abandon his responsibilities for it, his kingdom and his future, and for what? Some scrawny orphan who couldn't fight off so much as a stray cat? Tony deserved better than that. He always had. Steve couldn't be what Tony had wanted him to be, but he could at least protect him now and that was far more important.

"He tried to describe it to me, once," Happy mused with a quiet, contemplative swig of his drink, "Damn saddest thing I've ever heard. Said it was like all your life, you were walking on water. You never knew you could do it because it depended on your belief that it wasn't water beneath you but solid earth. Then one day, out of the blue, someone tells you there's no earth beneath you. You don't believe them at first, because you know that of course there is. How could the very earth beneath you be gone without you noticing, when you'd been walking on it your whole life? But when it turns out they're right, the faith that was keeping you above water drowns you instead."

Silence echoed around the table.

Steve felt sick with a guilt that dug into his very bones.

"Christ." Bucky gaped. He and Sam both seemed to be struggling not to stare at Steve. It was possible he'd perhaps downplayed the intensity of his and Tony's relationship to them.

"Enough of this Steve talk," Clint declared, raising his mug, "This is supposed to be a feast, not a funeral service."

"Indeed!" Happy raised his as well, shaking his head as if to shrug off the gloom. "A toast to our new knights, yes?"

"A toast!"

The others joined in and before long the subject of Steve and Tony was long forgotten by all but Steve himself. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. How could this still be such a sore subject for Tony that his knights had noticed? It had been ten years. Tony had married, produced a child. What was he even still _thinking_ of Steve for?

The question plagued Steve, but he didn't get a chance to ask Tony himself. Tony returned to the feast after some time but was uncharacteristically quiet. Long after the feast ended, Steve couldn't help expecting Tony to come to his chambers, just as he'd been unable to help expecting Tony to come by earlier. Just like earlier, Tony never came.

Steve figured he deserved that.

He tried to settle into bed. He attempted to put aside such thoughts and get some rest—Sir Barton in particular would not go easy on him tomorrow, Steve knew—but the look in Tony's eyes when he'd first seen Steve that morning still haunted him. The recognition, the fear, the hope…time had done plenty, but it hadn't done a thing to dampen Steve's ability to understand Tony. He'd been reading the looks in Tony's eyes since he was a child; he saw worlds in those eyes, he always had. He knew Tony better than Tony knew himself and he'd known from the very moment he'd laid eyes on Tony that Tony hadn't forgotten him for a second. It hurt to think about, but as Steve tried desperately to fall asleep he found he could think of nothing else.

Come morning, Steve was just as restless. Not for his match with Sir Barton—he'd spent his decade quite purposefully and if there was one thing he could be certain in it was his skill with a sword—but for the one Tony might try and start afterward. Tony was itching for a fight. Steve couldn't claim he didn't understand, but that didn't mean he would ever dare hold to a sword against the man he loved.

"Well, come on then." Clint twirled his bow. "Have at it."

"Where's your sword?" Steve frowned.

"I don't need it."

"I'm trying to be fair." Steve sighed.

"And I'm trying to kick your ass," Clint informed him disdainfully, "Who says I need a sword for that?"

"Look at you, Joe." Bucky grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. "You just make friends everywhere you go, don't you?"

"I'm not here to make friends," Steve reminded Bucky quietly, who sighed.

"There's that work ethic again," Bucky muttered good-naturedly, not quite loud enough for the others to hear, "Come on, we made the knights. Cut yourself a little slack."

Steve shook his head. Bucky rolled his eyes, but moved along. Despite what Bucky and Sam might have to say about it, Steve still had a lot left to prove. The training had only been the first step; the second part, the _important_ part, was proving to Tony that it had been worth it. That leaving had made him strong enough to be worthy of standing at Tony's side again, of being as much Tony's equal as he could ever be.

"If both knights are ready?" Tony drawled, his gaze lingering no more on Steve any more than it did on Clint.

"Bring it, rookie." Clint smirked at him.

"If you say so." Steve shot him one in return.

Clint had no idea what he was getting himself into. This was Steve's moment to prove to Tony that their time apart had been well spent; this was how he would prove he had become the knight Tony could trust at his side, the knight Tony  _wanted_ at his side.

Clint never stood a chance.

Steve took him down cleanly and efficiently, cutting the man no breaks for pride. He got the sense Clint wouldn't have wanted him to anyway. Once he'd knocked Clint's bow from his hand and pressed his blade against Clint's throat—a show of dominance, not enough to even touch the skin—he looked to Tony for approval. Tony raised a hand lazily, calling the match but not holding Steve's gaze.

The rest of the training and later days passed much the same. Tony barely glanced his way, only speaking to him if spoken to first and only making enough eye contact to seem politely neutral. He was perfectly cordial, a cold sort of brusque that might befit another king but had never quite rung true for Tony. He was informal, was warm and welcoming and open with everyone; within the space of a week, Bucky and Sam had earned his informal good nature. Steve had not. That was fair, he knew. They would have to sit down and talk and work things out between them before Steve could begin to earn Tony's forgiveness, but Tony wouldn't let him. Steve tried to get him alone countless times, tried to catch him after training sessions, between meetings, after meals, but Tony always skittered just out of reach before Steve could lay a hand on him, dashing away to whatever appointment he had next.

Worse still, everyone knew something was off. In another castle that sort of behavior to subordinates might go unnoticed, but Tony wasn't that kind of King. He was warm with his knights, jocular and friendly like any one of them. It was only Steve he was curt with, only Steve he snapped at, only Steve he got into a shouting match with every other hour. Tony certainly wasn't subtle with his rage, but 'being related to Steve' seemed to be enough of a reason that for the moment no one was asking any further questions. Steve had known Tony wouldn't be  _pleased_ with him for leaving, but he'd thought time would dull it enough that after a few sharp words and some lengthy discussion they could be friends again, that Tony would let him back into his life.

He'd been wrong.

He deserved that though, he supposed. If Tony had never received his letter…he tried to imagine how he'd have felt if Tony had left him in the middle of the night without so much as a word, but couldn't. It hurt too much. He'd spend the rest of his life trying to make that up to Tony. He'd made the right decision in leaving, but as hard as it would have been he should have spoken to Tony. He'd been too afraid, known all too well that Tony would have convinced him to stay. He'd broken Tony's heart for it though and there was no excuse for that.

Days turned into a week and still Steve couldn't get Tony alone. Having the man so close and not being able to even talk with him—truly  _talk_ with him—ached worse than being apart completely. At least then he could imagine Tony was happy. That was the worst part of it all, really: Tony wasn't happy. Steve had left not just so he could get stronger, not just so Tony could have a family, but so that Tony could find happiness in doing so. Steve could have stayed. He could have trained in the kingdom, broken things off with Tony but stayed his friend and convinced Tony to marry—Steve doubted how successful he would have been in 'breaking things off' considering his horrible weakness for Tony's pleases, but he could have, theoretically—but Tony wouldn't have committed to it. He'd have only been trying to appease Steve and he wouldn't have found any sort of happiness that way.

But Steve  _had_ left. So why wasn't Tony happy? He had his wife and child, his knights, his kingdom. By all accounts, he should be happy. Was his wife ill? Steve hadn't seen her once in his entire first week at the castle. Steve would admit he was not particularly looking forward to meeting the woman who could call Tony her own and certainly didn't intend to go out of his way to meet her, but he did wonder where exactly she'd disappeared to. He hadn't seen her at ceremonies or training exercises, or even playing with Peter in the courtyard where he most often found Tony.

He'd tried at first to approach Tony there, hoping the clear lack of duties to attend to would leave Tony without an excuse to leave. Tony had simply taken Peter by the hand and flat out left with a simple, tense, _another time, Sir Grant,_ tossed over his shoulder. Steve soon stopped approaching him there at least, because it meant that he could settle in on the balcony above the courtyard in his free time with pencil and paper in hand. He was unsure if Tony knew he was there or not, but he elected not to draw attention to himself. There was a melancholy sort of peacefulness to those afternoons, observing the way Tony interacted with his son.

He was most reminiscent of the boy Steve had known when he was with Peter. He smiled and laughed more, the tension he seemed to carry with him near constantly finally easing. He was relaxed with the knights but he was playful with Peter, spirited and loose in a way he wasn't with anyone else. Tony was still young, soon to be just twenty-eight, but that youth was usually clouded by the heavy responsibility he surely shouldered. With Peter, his remaining vivacity showed through in a way Steve would never be able to adequately put to paper. He tried his best.

Peter was often in the courtyard without Tony as well, practicing his swordsmanship with one of the knights or playing games with his friends. Steve liked watching Peter. He looked a little like Tony, though it was less in his actual features and more in his expressions, his behavior. He certainly had the same spirited, mischievous nature. He was quieter about it than Tony had been; Tony had been a loudmouthed little brat, spoiled from the first and not at all shy about letting people know it. Peter was more cautious, more likely to observe a situation and get his footing before speaking up. Tony had always been one to leap first and figure out how to stick his landing later.

If Tony ever caught him watching Peter he didn't mention it, but then, Tony didn't mention anything to him anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter was about to knock Harry on his butt when he realized he was being watched.

Harry used the distraction to block Peter's winning shot, parry and knock Peter's wooden sword from his hand. Shoot. Peter turned, expecting his watcher to be Daddy, who would help him take Harry on, but it wasn't. It was the blonde man Daddy yelled at a lot, Steve's cousin. The moment Peter looked at him, he started walking again, looking away from Peter and disappearing off down the hall. Peter shrugged, turned back to Harry.

"Two outta three?"

That was that, the first time. Peter forgot all about it, until it happened again. And again. And  _again._ Soon enough, any time Peter was in the courtyard, he could expect Sir Grant to be watching him like a hawk. He had a notepad with him almost always; Peter wondered what he needed it for. Was he writing about Peter? He didn't know for certain and it made him nervous, which was strange. He liked the knights. Daddy had always told him that if he ever needed anything, the knights' first duty was to protect Peter at all costs, so he should never be afraid to go to them for help.

This one was different, though. Daddy liked the other knights, got along with them. He never shouted with them like he and Sir Grant shouted with each other, or stare at them all the time, or make sad faces when Sir Grant wasn't looking. Sir Grant did it too, though Peter couldn't tell for sure if Daddy knew or not. Either way, he didn't like it one bit; Daddy was always in a mood after seeing Sir Grant, mad and sad and quiet all at once, nearly all the time now.

So he asked about it.

"How about red today?" Daddy handed him a shirt and Peter took it, started to tug it on. Daddy tried to help him.

"No! I can do it."

"If you say so." Daddy chuckled.

"Daddy?" Peter questioned as he wiggled into the shirt, "How come you'n Sir Grant keep yelling at each other?"

Daddy seemed surprised by the question. He leaned back against Peter's bed, taking a moment to think it over before saying, "We knew the same person, once."

"Steve?"

"Yes. We disagree very strongly about a decision Steve made."

"What decision?"

"Nothing you should worry about." Daddy smiled at him, but it was sad. "It was a long time ago."

"But he's not…" Peter fidgeted. "He's not bad though, right?"

"Who?" Daddy looked startled. "Sir Grant? He's many things, but never that. What would make you think something like that?"

"He's always watchin' me all…weird," Peter admitted, "And he writes stuff down. Is he writing about me?"

Daddy looked very sad at that so Peter moved over to the bed to give Daddy the biggest, tightest hug he could. He didn't like it when Daddy looked like that. Daddy squeezed him tight a moment too, then let go and crouched down to Peter's level.

"He's drawing you," Daddy told him with another sad smile, "It means he's fond of you. Will you promise me something, Peter?"

Peter nodded seriously.

"Be nice to him." Daddy brushed his hair back with one hand before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "He's made some very poor decisions, and he doesn't always know how to say the things he wants to, but he's a good man. The very best."

"Okay," Peter decided, "I'll be real nice to him. I promise."

"Thank you." Daddy smiled one last of his sad smiles, the ones Peter hated, before standing up again and going to Peter's dresser to pick out the rest of his clothes for the day.

The next time Peter caught Sir Grant watching him, he ditched his wooden play-sword and marched right up to him. Sir Grant hastily shut his notepad as Peter approached.

"Hello." Peter stuck out a hand boldly. "My name is Peter Stark. I'm your prince."

"That you are." Sir Grant shook his hand with a bit of smile. "Though I believe we've met."

"Yeah, but you don't talk to me, you just watch. You oughta talk to me. I'm great."

That startled a laugh out of the knight. "You've certainly got your father's famous modesty."

"You and I are gonna be friends," Peter told him with certainty.

"His subtlety too, it seems." Sir Grant chuckled. "But I'd like that very much, Peter."

"Great!" Peter hopped up on the bench with him. "Daddy says you've been drawing me, can I see?"

"He…?" Sir Grant paled a bit, his lips going thin, but he eventually nodded. "If you want."

He opened the notepad again and started to flip to the back of it, but Peter stopped him.

"Hey, is that Daddy?" Peter, too excited to remember his manners, grabbed the pad.

"No, that's—it was just—"

"Wow." Peter boggled at it. "You're  _amazing."_

The picture looked just like his Daddy. He was in his knight's armor, shield high and sword at the ready, though his helmet was off. Every detail of his face looked exactly the same, except—

"He's got a scar right here though." Peter pointed to just under Daddy's jaw. "He got it fighting a griffin that came through the town square. He hopped right up on it's back and wrestled it down, but they've got real sharp claws and he got nicked."

"I'll be sure and remember that." Sir Grant leaned over him a little to mark the place where Peter was pointing with his pencil. He circled the spot and wrote the words 'griffin attack; scar?'. "Your father's a very brave man."

"Yeah." Peter flipped through the book some more. "Didja know he went after a hydra once? Wasn't even for our kingdom, he just wanted to see if he could."

"Was he alright?"

"Coupl'a broken bones, I think." Peter wasn't really paying attention to answering anymore, far more focused on finding a picture of himself. Most of the pictures just seemed to be Daddy a bunch of different ways. "And Sir Rhodey says he almost got drowned 'cause he ran into a siren on his way back."

"He 'ran into' a siren this far inland?"

"Sir Rhodey says b'fore I came along, Daddy was always lookin' for trouble, just like me." Peter found a picture of himself and Harry. "Hey, there's me!"

"When was all this?"

"I dunno, a week ago?" Peter frowned up at him. "You tell me, you drew it."

"No, the hydra."

"Oh. I wasn't born yet." Peter returned his attention to the pictures. "So a really really long time ago."

"Right."

Sir Grant fell silent, let Peter look at the pictures. When Peter finished and handed it back, Sir Grant smiled at him.

"What's the verdict?"

"You're a real amazing artist, Sir," Peter told him honestly.

"Well, thank you, it's mostly just—" Sir Grant began, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, but Peter cut him off impertinently.

"No, really," he insisted, "Art's a part of my lessons, but mine never turn out good. I tried to draw Daddy last week, but I forgot a lot of him. Like his nose, I think. But you got everything."

"I've had plenty more practice than you." Sir Grant smiled. "You'll get there."

"Y'think?"

"Just keep drawing him." Sir Grant's smile went a little thin. "Soon enough you won't be able to forget a thing."

"Thanks, Sir Grant." Peter beamed back.

"You're welcome." Sir Grant patted his shoulder. "But just Joe is fine."

"Sure, Just Joe. And you can call me Prince Peter Parker Stark, his royal Greatness."

"As you wish, my liege." Joe stood, pressed one hand across his chest and bowed deeply. "Always a pleasure speaking with Prince Peter Parker Stark, his royal Greatness."

Peter giggled, earning another smile from Joe. "I'm glad you're not mad at me too, Just Joe."

"Too?" Joe frowned, took a seat beside him again with a concerned look. "Who's mad at you?"

"Not at me. But you're real mad at Daddy so I thought you might'a been mad at me, too."

"No, no, of course I'm not mad at you," Joe told him hastily, "And I'm not mad at your father, either. We're having a…disagreement, but I'm not angry with him."

"You sound angry," Peter pointed out, "Kind of a lot."

"It's…" Joe made a bit of a face, his mouth twisting a little. "Complicated."

"Cause of Steve?"

"Yes." Joe glanced down at his hands. "Because of Steve."

"Why don't you just get him to come back?" Peter pressed, "I bet he could clear it up."

"I'm sure he'd like to." Joe's mouth did the twisty thing again. "But I don't think your father cares much what he has to say for himself."

Peter wasn't sure what that meant. He ignored it and tried a different tactic. "Can you at least tell him about me? He might come back then, t'meet me. Daddy says he would've thought I was great."

"Your father is absolutely right." Joe's mouth finally stopped doing the twisty thing long enough to shoot Peter a smile.

"Then d'you think he'd at least send me a letter or something?" Peter pushed, "I really, really,  _really_ wanna meet him. Daddy says he fought a  _dragon_  once—"

"It was just a hatchling." Joe looked oddly embarrassed by that. "And he didn't fight it, not really, he just—"

"Jumped right in front'a it when it was about'a burn Daddy," Peter finished eagerly, "Dumped his water pail on it right in time. Then they bundled it up so it couldn't claw 'em and he and Daddy and Sir Rhodey snuck into dragon territory to get it back to it's mama."

Joe was quiet for a long moment after that. He must've been absorbing the awesomeness of the story. When he spoke, he had a weirdly sad smile. Kind of like Daddy's.

"Your father tells you a lot of these, huh?"

"Sure, every night b'fore bed. Well, most nights. If I'm good." Peter quickly added, "I'm usually good."

"I bet you are." Joe's smile loosened a little.

"So are you gonna tell Steve about me?" Peter bounced a little, eager.

"You know, Peter, I think…I think Steve might be better left in the past." Joe gave a bit of a sigh.

"Great, you too." Peter scowled moodily.

"Me too?" Joe shot him a curious look.

"Sir Rhodes says I'm not supposed to talk about him," Peter admitted, "But he's your cousin, so I thought it'd be okay."

"Why can't you talk about him?"

"He says it makes Daddy either real mad or real sad, so I shouldn't do it. But Daddy always says we gotta remember him, no matter what Sir Rhodes says."

"Remember him? You never met him."

"No." Peter fidgeted, gaining momentum and excitement as he talked. "But I want to. That's why you gotta tell him to come back, so I can meet him. Daddy says we'd have been real good buddies, him and me, says Steve would've adored me cause I got sass like he does. He says Steve's real nice, too, that he's smart and kind and honest and has a real big heart with plenty'a room for me."

"Your father really…" Joe's voice was soft, almost silent, like he couldn't quite draw up the right words. He was making a funny sort of face, all scrunched and sad, and he swallowed hard before he spoke again. "He said all that?"

"Yeah!" Peter smiled, pleased that he might finally be getting through to Joe. "Steve's the best."

"What did your father tell you happened to him, exactly?"

"A real mean wizard stole him away in the middle of the night with…" Peter wiggled his fingers the way Daddy always did when he told the story. " _Black magic."_

"Black magic?" Joe gave a small, aborted laugh.

"Uh-huh. But Daddy says Steve's the strongest there is, so when—"

"He's been telling you that?" Joe interrupted again. He was real bad at that. "That Steve was…strong?"

"Well, duh." Peter rolled his eyes, repeating what Daddy had told him countless times, "Strength's all in the heart."

"Strength's all in the heart," Joe echoed quietly, like it confused him.

"Yeah." Peter gave him a weird look. "So obviously he broke free and defeated the wizard, he just can't find his way home. But you can talk to him, can't you? You can help us find him?"

"I would love to, but…" Joe sighed. "I'm not certain Steve belongs here anymore, Peter."

"Course he does." Peter frowned. "I want him here. Daddy wants him here. Don't you?"

"More than anything." Joe smiled softly.

"Then we can't give up," Peter told him decisively, "Steve wouldn't."

"You'd be surprised what people would do given the right reasons." Joe sighed. "What if giving up made everyone happier?"

"Why would giving up make anyone happy?" Peter didn't understand.

"Well…" Joe mused. "What if Steve leaving meant your father could have you? Isn't that a very good thing?"

"How come he can't have me  _and_  Steve?"

"You'll understand the logistics of that a little better when you're older." Joe ran a hand through his hair. "But just, say that he couldn't have both. Shouldn't Steve leave, so your father could have you and everything else he deserves in life?"

Peter pondered that. Obviously Daddy had to have him, but… "Heroes don't give up."

"They certainly never want to," Joe agreed, "But maybe sometimes they need to put someone else before themselves."

"Being a hero sounds hard," Peter lamented. Daddy always made it seem so easy.

Joe shot him a wry smile. "Unfortunately, most things worth doing in life are."

"Oh." Peter wrinkled his nose. "What about fighting?"

"What about fighting?"

"Well, you're real good, right? Was it hard to get that good?"

"Very." Joe chuckled. "But then, I didn't have much of a foundation to start with."

"Could you show me some of it?" Peter asked eagerly.

"You Starks." Joe sighed, but it was fond. "Always itching for a fight."

"Not a real one," Peter insisted. He scooted off the bench, then took Joe's hand and tugged him along. Joe conceded willingly, standing up and tucking his notebook under his arm. "Just to help me practice. Daddy usually does right now, but he's meeting with Lord Osborn, I think, and Harry didn't come this time."

"You're quite the daddy's boy, aren't you?" Joe gave a soft snort.

"Duh." Peter rolled his eyes. "My Daddy's the best."

"Bet he loves hearing that." Joe chuckled.

"Yeah." Peter took the steps down two at a time. "But he tells me I'm the best, too. He says I got him and he got me and that's all we need."

"Right." Joe went sort of quiet at that.

"I mean, knights are cool too," Peter amended quickly. He hadn't meant to make his new friend feel unwanted. "I just meant—"

"I understand what you meant, Peter," Joe assured him, "You can't imagine how very glad I am your father has you. You just watch out for him for me, alright?"

"Yessir." Peter nodded seriously.

"Good." Joe shot him a mischievous grin. "Now what do you say I teach you a trick you can use against your father next time you spar, hm?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Yeah!"

* * *

"You have to admit it was pretty funny." Bruce chuckled.

"He's seven," Tony grunted, "He's supposed to idolize me, not be looking for ways to kick my ass."

They were in Bruce's quarters. Bruce was technically speaking the court mage, not a healer, but Tony had never much liked healers. He preferred to have Bruce, who knew his fair share of healing spells, treat him instead. Besides, he wasn't even really injured this time. He'd just fallen on his ankle a little strangely. At the moment, he was far more interested in venting. Bruce only rolled his eyes, moving to his table to mix something Tony presumed would help.

"Peter adores you more than anything. He didn't mean for you to fall the way you did. Just because he managed to get the upper hand once—"

"He  _cheated,"_ Tony insisted, still furious, "And I'd bet you anything that damned Grant taught him—"

"You know it's not right." Bruce sighed, turned back to his work. "What you're doing? Holding some grudge against a man you barely know just for being related to Steve?"

"I know him plenty," Tony muttered moodily, if perhaps nonsensically.

"From shouting at him across the dinner table? From benching him at every given opportunity despite the fact that he's easily the best knight we've seen in decades?" Bruce shook his head. "The man practically acts like he's owed whatever abuse you dish out, I doubt you'd even have to apologize to him. You could simply move on from all this."

"Move on, move on, move on," Tony muttered, "Wherever have I heard that before?"

"I didn't mean from Steve." Bruce sighed again. "I meant from this ugly feud business."

Bruce knew the true nature of his and Steve's relationship. Many years ago, Tony had been on a quest with his knights and stumbled upon something called dreamshade. He'd been…less than cautious with it, as he was with most things in those days, and caught his hand on a thorn. He'd been burning up before they left the glen, unconscious before they made it halfway home. The magical cure for dreamshade—the only cure—was complex and involved someone stepping into his mind, retrieving him from the dream that kept him trapped within. It had to be done fast so Bruce had simply done it himself, completely unprepared for what awaited him.

Bruce had seen a portion of a very intimate memory. He'd only glimpsed a moment, but it was still enough to see someone's very naked, very male backside, put the pieces together and quickly wake Tony from the dream so he could shazam them back to reality. Tony was thankful for that, if nothing else; had Bruce not reacted as quickly as he had, he would've seen something far more intimate, far more vulnerable, than sex.

Though, the vulnerability Tony had displayed when Bruce yanked him from the dreamshade's grasp was nearly as bad. The dream had just felt so real, so right, that when Tony realized he'd returned to a Steve-less reality, he'd had to bury his head between his knees just…breathe, for a moment. It was the closest he'd ever come to crying in front of anyone. It was pathetic and a display he never should've allowed himself, but he'd  _believed_. For a few hours, he'd truly believed he'd found his way home. Then he'd blinked and it had been ripped away from him.

Again.

Bruce, for his part, had said nothing of Tony's near breakdown then and nothing since. He'd sat next to Tony on the cot, simply waiting until Tony finished pulling himself together. It hadn't taken long—twenty years of hiding his every weakness had to be worth something—and Tony had turned to him with dry eyes and his calmest expression.

" _You can't speak of what you saw to anyone. Not ever."_

" _I wouldn't," Bruce assured firmly. Then, with hesitance, "That's Steve, isn't it? The one who left?"_

" _Yeah." Tony shook his head, numbly repeating, "The one who left."_

" _I assume you haven't told anyone about the, uh, extent of it?"_

" _No." Tony hung his head in his hands, ran them through his hair. "Jesus, no."_

" _I'm no expert in…healing." Tony knew he'd been about to say grieving. He liked that he didn't. "But if you'd ever like to talk about what happened, I would listen."_

_Tony fell silent. He didn't say anything for a long time._

" _I don't know what happened. That's—that's the worst of it. He's my soulmate, I_ know  _that he is, but I haven't the slightest idea why he left. Not a damn clue. I mean…" Tony could feel himself choking up again, and he shoved it down, hard. "I pushed him. I think. But not enough that he'd…I don't know. If you'd have asked me then, I'd have told you it was impossible for me to push Steve enough to leave my side. Now, how can I be sure?"_

" _Pushed him?"_

" _We'd talked about the future before. Not…we knew the reality of our situation, but we made up all these…dreams, these lives where we could be together anyway. All kinds of lives, in strange places and times, where we could be together openly. And I…I didn't want it to be a dream. I_ don't  _want it to be a dream. So I asked him to marry me." Bruce didn't say anything. Tony straightened, jaw clenched to stop the onslaught of emotions that threatened to break free again. "He was gone by morning."_

Tony shook the memory away.

He'd talked to Bruce about Steve many times over the years. He hated that Bruce had seen even a sliver of a moment meant only for Steve and himself, but he was grateful for the consequences. His grief hadn't gotten any lighter, but it was easier to carry when he didn't always have to hold his tongue. If anyone would understand what it meant to Tony that Steve was back, it would be Bruce.

"About that—" Tony was interrupted by the door opening without a knock. Who would dare to—

"I need to speak to the king," Steve demanded, seeming to be speaking to Bruce though his eyes were on Tony the moment he entered the room.

Naturally.

"You ought to knock," Tony drawled.

"You ought to speak with me," Steve shot back.

"I'm treating his ankle, Sir Grant," Bruce intervened, "He's busy. You can speak when I'm finished."

"And I've a meeting after this, anyway." Tony waved him on. It was actually true for once, too. "I'll find you when I'm free."

"I'll wait." Steve sat on the cot closed to the door, as if to block Tony's exit.

"I don't recall inviting you to."

"Tony." Bruce looked at him sharply and damn it, Bruce still thought he ought to smile and place nice with the man who'd fucking ripped his heart out. Tony really should've told him. He would. Later.

"I taught Peter that trick, but—" Steve began.

"Believe me," Tony cut him off icily, "I am more than aware."

" _But,"_ Steve repeated forcefully, continuing onwards, "I didn't mean for him to hurt you. I would  _never_. I know we haven't…" A glance at Bruce. "Gotten off on the right foot, and I know you haven't forgiven me for my cousin's actions, but I would never dream of teaching Peter, or anyone, something I thought would hurt you. I didn't think you would fall the way you did—"

"He caught me off-guard." Tony grit his teeth. "I haven't seen a move that dirty in, oh, near to a decade now."

"He's smaller than you," Steve replied, a ghost of a smile on his face at the words, "He's got to get the upper hand somehow."

" _I'm smaller than you." Steve, the dirty rotten cheater, just extended a hand to Tony to help tug him up. Tony begrudgingly accepted. Steve's hand lingered longer than necessary, squeezing his own once with a dazzling, mischievous smile. "I've got to get the upper hand somehow."_

Tony clenched his hands tight enough that his nails dug into his palms.

"Regardless, I don't like being watched. Wait outside."

"You love being watched." Steve snorted, then tried to hide it in a cough upon realizing Bruce was staring at him.

Bruce glanced between them a moment, then narrowed his eyes at Steve. "Sir Grant, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a moment while I finish."

"I'd rather—"

"Stay, yes, I'm sure." There was something about the way Bruce said it; Tony knew in an instant that he knew. "This will just take a moment. There's only one exit, regardless, you'll catch him as he leaves just fine."

Steve briefly looked ready to further argue his point, but a glance at Tony, who refused to meet his eyes, seemed to take the fight out of him. He deflated a little, nodding in concession to Bruce before silently taking his leave. The moment the door shut, Bruce flicked his injured ankle.

"Ow! What was—?"

"You know exactly what that was for," Bruce hissed with a glance to the door, "What is  _wrong_ with you?"

"A great number of things, shall I list them off?"

"I have so many questions I'm not even certain where to begin." Bruce rubbed a hand to his forehead.

"Welcome to the insanity that has become my life." Tony snorted.

"You knew the moment you laid eyes on him. I knew something shook you up that day, why didn't you say anything?"

"What is there to say?" Tony grit his teeth. "He left. Does it matter why?"

"You've been desperate for an answer for years and now that you can have one it doesn't matter?"

"Yes?" Tony rubbed both hands over his face. "No? I don't—I don't know, Bruce, I don't. I thought—he's clearly fine. No one held him against his will. No one dragged him off in the middle of the night. Had they, he wouldn't have gone through this ridiculous show of being a knight, he'd have come right to me. He left of his own volition, I know that much. Isn't that all that really matters? He  _chose_ to  _leave me_ — _"_

Angry and bitter, his voice scraped over the last of it. He shut his mouth firmly and turned his head to take a moment to collect himself.

"What he did wasn't right," Bruce interjected quietly, "But he could've had good intentions. He obviously wishes to speak to you. Is there any harm in at least hearing him out?"

"I'll cave, Bruce," Tony admitted softly, "One word out of him that even remotely resembles an apology and I'll cave like the past ten years never even happened and I can't—I could barely do it the once, if I let him back in and he leaves again, I don't—I can't go through that again. I refuse to."

"He's not going to give up trying to speak to you." Bruce glanced at the door. "He seems…he doesn't act like a man who doesn't care, Tony."

"I know." Tony buried his face in his hands. "I  _know_ that. But a man who cares doesn't leave without a word, either."

"I thought he was insisting something about a note?"

"He was. Is. He keeps saying there was, but you weren't there. Rhodey and Happy know, I turned the whole castle upside down looking for something,  _anything_ he could've left me. I imbued meaning into a hundred things, none of it real. I turned up the floorboards, emptied both our rooms, stripped the very bed of its sheets in hopes he'd tucked something there. I turned up nothing. He couldn't have left a note, it's simply not  _possible."_

Bruce was silent for a moment, then shot Tony a cautious glance. "Could someone have gotten to it first?"

Tony considered that. He wanted to say no, that they would've acted differently enough towards him that he would've noticed, but the truth of it was he hadn't noticed much of anything in the weeks afterwards. Any of the maids or servants in the place could've found it and been staring at him openly for ages after and he'd have hardly spared them a glance. But why hide it? Why not give it to him? Who could be so cruel?

"It's possible." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "But does it really matter? Maybe he left a note. It doesn't change the fact that he didn't take ten goddamn seconds to wake me and tell me he was leaving in person. I  _deserved_ that."

"You did," Bruce agreed gently, "You deserved closure, Tony. You needed it, and I think you still do. You really should talk to him."

"I need more time." Tony shook his head. "Just enough to get my head on straight. To grasp the fact that this is actually happening and not all just another dream."

"The fact that this still qualifies as a dream and not a nightmare has to count for something, doesn't it?" Bruce's lips quirked up.

Tony nodded mutely. He didn't mention that anytime he got to see Steve's face again, even just once, qualified as a dream no matter the circumstances.

"Well." Bruce sighed, crouching in front of Tony with some kind of green poultice. "If you're going to continue avoiding him, you're going to need full use of your ankle."

That got a bit of a rueful laugh from him. "I'd appreciate having it, certainly."

Bruce took Tony's ankle in one hand and scooped out a small handful of the green stuff in his other. He pressed it to Tony's ankle, really rubbed it in and  _Christ_ did that hurt. When Bruce finished, he gestured for Tony to stand.

"Any soreness?" he questioned. Tony stood on it, rolled it around a bit. Nothing.

"Good as new. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Bruce smiled, but it was softened by pity. Tony loathed it. Bruce, likely seeing Tony's distaste in his expression, rolled his eyes. "Go on, sneak out the back."

"Back?" Tony questioned with a frown. "What back? Didn't you just tell Steve there wasn't one?"

"I was making sure you had an out. I assumed you had your reasons to want one." Bruce gave a small shrug then a jerk of his head in the right direction. "Go around the corner, there's another door."

Tony was impossibly grateful for it. He knew Steve would be waiting outside the other door for hours if Bruce didn't inform him Tony had left, his stubbornness getting the better of him, but Tony also felt rather vindictively pleased by that. The simple truth of it was, he wasn't ready to be alone with Steve no matter what Steve himself seemed to think. If Tony could finally say all the things he'd had to hold in for the past ten years, if he had to dredge up a past it had nearly killed him to bury, he had absolutely no idea what would happen. He wasn't eager to find out. He headed to his meeting instead; if Thor couldn't cheer him up, no one could.

"Anthony!" Thor boomed with a grin as he entered the room. "It's good to see you, how fare thee?"

"I'm doing well." Tony grinned back, because it was hard not to return a Thor-grin no matter how you felt. He crossed to give Thor a welcoming hug. "It's good to see you too, old friend. Sorry about the wait, bit of a medical issue just before you arrived."

"You are well now, of course?" Thor pressed, concern evident.

"Perfectly well," Tony assured, "Thank you. I got your letter, but you were vague. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"More trouble than pleasure, I fear." Thor gave a gusty sigh. He glanced at the knights he'd travelled with, his famously talented Warriors Three and the legendary Lady Sif. "I'm afraid the nature of these matters is rather sensitive."

He glanced at his knights, who must've been told in advance that they'd need to allow for privacy, as they bowed to their Prince then took their leave silently and immediately. Tony was admittedly surprised; he hadn't expected anything more serious than a visit from an old friend. King Odin and King Howard had been great allies, and when they'd held meetings in Midgard the young princes Thor and Loki would always come with King Odin to visit. The same had been true of many trips to Asgard, resulting in a strong bond of friendship between he and Thor. Loki was a peculiar one—rumor had it he was not even a legitimate child—but Thor Tony had always trusted.

"I much appreciate your seeing me." Thor seemed to sober and it was a grave sight; off the battlefield, Thor was rarely anything but jovial. "What do you remember of my brother?"

"Not much." Tony tilted his head. "He hasn't been by in quite some time. He used to cheat at chess, I remember that."

That earned a laugh from Thor, but it was rueful. "He still does. You know of his magic?"

"I most certainly do." Tony snorted. "He suspended me from the balcony with it once."

"Indeed." Thor chuckled. "And your manservant punched him in the face for it, did he not?"

"Sure did. Hell of a bloody nose, that."

"Aye, and he certainly earned it." Thor sighed, leaning forward. "He is much the same, my brother. When he feels slighted, he will go to great lengths to gain his vengeance."

"Vengeance?" Tony frowned. "What has he to seek to vengeance for?"

Thor paused for a long moment. Tony suspected what he was about to say, and understood the weight of it. For a member of another kingdom, much less a prince, to admit to a weak link in the royal chain wasn't done. Tony could easily use the knowledge to his advantage, push for war; Asgard was just to the North, would be easy to incorporate into their territory. Tony laid a hand on Thor's shoulder and squeezed in reassurance.

"You're an old friend, Thor. You will lead your kingdom well one day and I would fight any fool who dared claim otherwise."

"You have a good heart, Anthony. Your support means much to me." Thor nodded solemnly. "My father is ill, gravely so. He sleeps much of late, and we fear he will soon not rise at all. He knows this. It is why he told us that my brother is not my brother by blood. It is not something I consider of import, but it is something Loki has taken grave offense to. He has disappeared completely. Rumors say that he is gathering an army."

"If you need men, Thor, you know I will readily lend you all that I can—"

"It is you I fear for." Thor shook his head. "His vendetta is personal. With father ill, it is me he wishes to hurt and to do so I fear he will strike at your kingdom, particularly—"

"Lady Jane," Tony realized.

Thor had been in love with her for many years. He made excuses to visit Midgard often and though he at first merely spent his visits pining after her, he now spent long walks with her around the kingdom and into the safer parts of the forests whenever he came. He was not, however, officially courting her, regardless of how many times Tony had urged him to do so.

"Yes." Thor sighed wearily. "I have brought my finest knights with me and we will defend your kingdom and Lady Jane to the last, should you allow it. This is a mess of my own making, I am deeply sorry for the trouble it will cause you."

"It's of no one's making but Loki's," Tony assured him, "We welcome the assistance, not to mention the warning. I'll assign a detail to Lady Jane. Unless of course you'd rest easier doing so yourself?"

"I would indeed." Thor nodded gratefully.

"Then so it shall be. Now." Tony leaned back with a smile. "Tell me of her, how does she fare? Certainly you went to see her before meeting with me, don't say that you didn't."

"She lives in your castle, Anthony." Thor chuckled, but didn't deny it. "You know how she fares."

"But I know her not as you do." Tony brushed his deflection off. "You love her enough your brother seeks to harm her, why haven't you declared your intentions to her already?"

"Who says I have not?" The corner of Thor's lips turned up slyly. Tony laughed.

"Scoundrel. And you didn't tell me?"

"We have mentioned it to no one." Thor shook his head. "I tell it to you now because for all the trouble I am about to reign upon you, you at the very least deserve a fair understanding of the situation."

"And that is?"

"Lady Jane and I have declared our intentions for each other, to each other. I told only my brother. She told only Lady Darcy. And I tell you, now: we do very much wish to marry one day. She is not eager to leave Midgard, however, and I cannot leave Asgard without some form of leadership, not now. We will find our compromise someday, I am certain, but for the moment it eludes us."

"Royalty is quite ill-suited for love," Tony remarked with a sigh.

"You speak from experience?"

"My fiancé ran off, do you not recall?"

"A fiancé you did not love." Thor watched him carefully, knowingly. "I recall that much."

"Indeed." Tony sighed passively. Thor had displayed great trust in him by sharing his kingdom's woes. It was not such a leap to share some in kind. "But I am not as heartless as I seem."

"Nor are you as heartless as you think yourself," Thor told him.

"Perhaps not." Tony shot him a rueful smile. "I loved someone, once. I gave them all the love I had and they took it with them. I had nothing left to offer a fiancé. It's why she ran and why I understood."

Thor said nothing, but it was not an unkind silence. Thor likely suspected if not outright knew who Tony spoke of. They'd been friends many years, after all, even if they didn't see each more than a handful of times a year these days. He knew no one's leaving had devastated Tony like Steve's had. It was hardly a stretch. Still, Thor did not comment on it outright and for that Tony was thankful.

"There is always hope, my friend." Thor smiled kindly. "You said you loved them once. Do you still?"

The answer should've taken a moment's consideration. After everything they'd been through, all the time that had passed, how furious he still was at Steve for it all; he should've had to mull it over. He didn't.

"I never stopped."

"Then there is hope indeed."

"There's no way to know if they still return my devotion." Tony ran an aggravated hand through his hair with a sigh he felt deep in his bones. "It's been many years."

"Do you believe their love was true?"

"I can't believe anything but."

"Then time will have done nothing." Thor dismissed his worries with an ease that made Tony greatly envious, clasping a hand to his shoulder in assurance. "Love can be clouded, yes, but never forgotten. You will find your way to each other again, Anthony. Of this I am certain."

"I wish for the days when finding was the only problem." Tony sighed ruefully.

"If you've found them, what stops you?"

"If only I knew." Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. Between Thor and Bruce, he was growing less certain by the moment. "They wish to talk. I haven't the slightest idea what to say. I'm not even certain they returned for me at all, or if they simply returned to their home. And if they truly do no longer return my devotion…I can hardly bear the thought, I've no desire to hear it said to my face."

"You were always so quick to assume the worst." Thor gave a humorless chuckle. "I cannot imagine why they would return if not for you, Anthony."

"Perhaps," Tony admitted. But perhaps not.

He wasn't ready yet to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

"Steve Rogers."

Steve turned his head before he could think not to. Staring back at him was the knowing face of Bruce Banner.

"You're a little taller than Tony described you." Bruce's mouth quirked up for a flicker of a moment.

"Shit," Steve mumbled.

"So." Bruce closed the door behind himself, resting against it. "Ten years."

"Is, uh." Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is the king still inside?"

"He went out the back," Bruce informed him casually.

"There's a back?" Steve frowned.

"Yes. Why have you returned?"

"Excuse me?" It wasn't the question he'd been anticipating.

"I asked you why you've returned," Bruce repeated simply. Steve couldn't read him; his voice was too even, his expression free of any tells. Steve wasn't sure how open to be with him.

"Midgard is my home."

"Is it?" Bruce mused, "Been gone a while."

"I had some things that needed taking care of."

"At Tony's expense?" Bruce tilted his head. Steve fell silent. How much had Tony told him? Bruce raised an eyebrow at him with something akin to amusement. "Why don't you come in, Sir Rogers."

Steve glanced around as surreptitiously as possible. There seemed to be no one around, but Bruce's indiscretion still made him nervous. Bruce simply opened the door, gestured for Steve to go in. He wasn't particularly enthused about the conversation that would be sure to follow, but if Tony had gone so far as to escape him out the back door he clearly still wasn't willing to talk. It would be more prudent at the moment to find out exactly how much Bruce knew.

"Your expressions don't hide much, do they?" Bruce chuckled as Steve stepped inside. Steve tried valiantly to school his face into something less telling, but he'd never been particularly good at deception.

"What exactly has our king told you of me?" Steve asked instead of responding.

"Enough to know you didn't leave because you had business elsewhere." Bruce eyed him shrewdly. "And you didn't return because you were homesick."

"I came back for my friend," Steve conceded.

"Rhodey or Happy?" Bruce inquired.

"Them as well, but I meant our king."

"Ah. Then you certainly use the term 'friend' quite liberally, don't you?"

Steve narrowed his eyes. "If there's something you'd like to say, say it."

"You loved him." Bruce's expression was still frustratingly unreadable. Apparently, Steve's wasn't: "You still do."

"How I feel is a private matter between—" Steve began stiffly, but Bruce only chuckled.

"There isn't a man woman or child in the whole castle who isn't perfectly aware of how you feel, Sir Rogers."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." Steve sighed. He didn't have it in him to be surprised; a decade without seeing Tony, it was inevitable he'd be unable to curb his gaze enough to effectively hide his regard. "It's no longer my name."

"For now, perhaps." Bruce shrugged.

A beat of silence passed between them; Steve couldn't resist.

"Did he tell you?"

Bruce nodded. "Not of his own volition."

"How do you mean?"

"Have you heard of dreamshade?"

Nasty stuff. He, Bucky and Sam had run into someone infected by it a few years ago; they'd been staying a small township outside of Vanaheim when a hysterical man had come bursting into the bar calling frantically for anyone possessing medicinal talents. None of them were overly skilled, but Sam in particular knew a few tricks so they'd gone with him to see what could be done to help. His wife had been pale and feverish when they'd arrived, worsening no matter what they tried and dead within hours. It had been an unpleasant experience and the thought of how helpless he'd been still left a sour taste on Steve's tongue; Tony had gone through that? His heart clenched with the desire to go check on him now, despite knowing full well Tony clearly still lived and wouldn't appreciate seeing Steve so soon after escaping him anyway.

"By the twisting of your expression, I'd say you certainly have." Bruce eyed him.

"There was this woman…I didn't know her, but she had a fever of some kind and nothing we did could get it down. How did Tony survive it?"

"The plant isn't medicinal, it's magical; magic cures magic." Bruce waved a hand idly, green sparks playing along his fingertips. "Dreamshade uses your strongest memories to trap you within your own mind. If you can retrieve the person from the depths of their mind, you can bring them back. If the poison reaches their heart they're irretrievable, but Tony was brought to me quickly enough. In retrieving him, I saw a portion of one of the memories that trapped him."

"And I was in it," Steve realized. Tony hated him so much now that he reflected on their time together as the stuff of  _nightmares?_

"You misunderstand." Bruce clearly saw the horror in his expression. "Dreamshade's power comes from the desire of a person to stay in their memory. It draws on only the most powerful, cherished memories it can find to use to that end."

Steve dropped Bruce's gaze. "Ah. So what you saw…"

"I can understand why Tony preferred it to his reality," Bruce acknowledged. He paused a moment, musing over something, "He thinks I only saw a flash. I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise."

"Otherwise being?"

"Pulling him out…" Bruce sighed. "He didn't want to wake. Magic only took me into his mind, waking him I had to do on my own. I had to bring him to the awareness that he was dreaming, but he couldn't see or hear me at all…nothing penetrated the fog he was in. I've woken a few people from dreamshade before, I have practice. None have been so hard to wake as him. And I've never seen…"

Bruce fell silent. Steve both wanted to hear the rest and hated himself for it; he stayed silent as well. After a moment Bruce shook his head.

"Tony adores his son. He loves Peter with everything that he is and is happy with that, don't mistake me. But there was a…lightness to Tony then that I've never once seen in him before or since. Youth played a part in it, I'm sure, but I also believe you took a part of him with you when you left."

"He's made a life for himself just fine without my aid," Steve insisted.

"Of course he has." Bruce snorted. "Tony functions better than anyone without aid of anyone, he's not a man who needs babying. That said, needing your presence and wishing for it are two separate matters entirely and he's been doing the latter for years. By the looks of you, it seems you've done the same. By the way you'd looked at him in the memory I saw I'd always assumed your affections had been tampered with…I admit, the fact that you simply threw a tantrum is a bit of a letdown."

"That—it wasn't—" Steve gaped at the nerve of this man. "I most certainly did not throw a  _tantrum."_

The look Bruce shot him was utterly withering. "If you weren't yet ready to marry, leaving the castle was hardly your only recourse."

"If I…" Steve frowned, realization dawning. "No. That's not—that was  _never—_ is that what Tony thought all this time? It didn't have a thing at all to do with that, I would marry him in a heartbeat!"

Bruce raised both eyebrows. It was too late to withdraw the sentiment now; Bruce wouldn't believe him if he tried, regardless. Silence fell again as Bruce scrutinized him and Steve tried his best not to feel see-through.

"Then what possessed you to leave?" Bruce simply asked.

"I did what was best for him," Steve insisted. Bucky and Sam had seen his point of view, but they were biased and Tony would hardly listen to them. If he could convince Bruce of his good intentions, perhaps then Tony would listen to him? "We couldn't get married, no matter how much I or he or both of us wished to. Tony didn't need a husband, but he did need a guard and I can  _be_ that now. I can stand at his side, can protect and serve him in ways I couldn't before. You saw me in that…memory, or dream, or whatever it was. A damn wind could knock me down, what good could I do Tony? He needed a bodyguard, not a scrawny brat of a lover who couldn't so much as hold him in the light of day. I couldn't be what Tony wanted me to be, but I can at least be what he needs. And that's better, isn't it?"

He could hear the desperate, imploring note in his voice and hated it, but there was little to be done about it. He'd chased this question round and round in his head for years. It would bring him immeasurable peace to hear someone that wasn't Bucky or Sam tell him he'd done the right thing. Bruce's mild expression betrayed nothing. Though it was a bit exasperating at the moment, Steve envied him for it.

"What exactly made you think you couldn't marry?"

It wasn't the answer Steve had been hoping for. Did no one but him in this damn kingdom understand how procreation worked? "The kingdom needed an heir. I don't know if you ever met King Howard, but I assure you he'd have had my head before he let me put his kingdom, not to mention his son's future, at risk. We could've run away, but…Midgard  _deserves_ a king like Tony. He's intelligent and brave, and kind beyond compare though he does his best to hide it. No matter how much I may have wished to, I could never justify hoarding him for myself."

"Hm." Bruce's mouth quirked up, not quite a smirk but not quite anything else. "You're certainly a martyr, aren't you?"

Steve clenched his jaw. He didn't need Bruce's approval, much as he'd have liked it. "If I hadn't left, Tony never would've found his queen, never would've had his son; I did the right—"

"What did you say?" Bruce's brows furrowed together, some mix of confusion and amusement appearing on his face.

Steve eyed Bruce warily. Was Bruce suggesting Tony would've fallen for his queen anyway, regardless of whether or not Steve had been around? It was possible, but ugly, bitter jealousy flared in his chest with unexpected force and Steve refused to believe it. Tony wouldn't have. Steve hadn't yet seen him with his queen, sure, but Tony had been happy with him. Tony had wanted to marry him once, surely he wouldn't have fallen under anyone else's spell if Steve had been around. He knew he was being bitter, and unreasonable to boot, but he couldn't bring himself to consider the idea that perhaps whatever love Tony had for his queen would've superseded his love for Steve whether or not Steve himself had been present.

"I said if I hadn't left, Tony wouldn't have his wife and son." Steve stood by his statement, refused to accept the alternative. "He's happy with them, and that's worth my leaving. Tony will agree with time."

Bruce shook his head. He looked like he almost wanted to laugh but couldn't quite bring himself to. "You poor bastard."

"I beg your pardon?" Steve frowned.

"Tony will forgive you." Bruce just shook his head again. "It's forgiving yourself you're going to have trouble with."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You grew up in the castle, didn't you?"

"Is that supposed to distract me?" Steve gave a frustrated sigh. "Yes, I grew up in the castle. I don't know what that has to do with—"

"Mary Stark," Bruce interrupted, "Tony's second cousin. Madly in love with a man named Richard Parker. Ever meet them?"

"We played together as children, but I fail to see—"

"There was a fire," Bruce continued, undisturbed by Steve's attempts to derive meaning from his tangent, "When Tony was…oh, twenty-two or so, I'd think. I was an apprentice then under the last mage, more knew of Tony than actually knew him. Accidental and a true tragedy, since it took the lives of both Mary and Richard. King Howard and Queen Maria had already been poisoned at that point—"

"Poisoned?" A pang of regret twisted in Steve's chest; Tony's parents had been murdered, his cousins lost to a fire and he'd been left alone in the world at only, what, twenty-two? He must've been desperately lonely and Steve had failed him astronomically. Was that Bruce's point? To elaborate the many times Steve had failed to be there for Tony as he'd promised?

"Poisoned," Bruce confirmed, "They caught the poisoner, but it was too late to save them. It was Mary and Richard who convinced Tony he was ready to take the throne, and when they died, Tony returned the favor by taking in their infant son."

"You can't mean…Peter?" Peter wasn't Tony's? If Peter wasn't Tony's…and Steve had never seen or heard a word from anyone about a queen… "Tony isn't married, is he?"

"He was engaged for a time, to a Lady Virginia." Steve didn't have the slightest idea who that was. Bruce seemed to realize. "You might know her as Pepper."

"I did…" Steve couldn't help but feel confused.

Pepper and Tony had always been closer, but Steve had liked and trusted her. She was the only person who'd ever outright acknowledged that she knew the true nature of his and Tony's relationship—though certainly Rhodey and Happy must have known as well—and she certainly wasn't the kind of person to go after Tony in his absence. But was it really 'going after'? He'd left for that exact purpose, hadn't he? To give Tony space to love and be loved in return by someone who could give him all that he deserved? Pepper could do so. She was a lady of the court, was of high status and a good bloodline and could've provided him with as many heirs as he desired. For all his gruff posturing, Tony had always loved children. It'd been apparent even when they'd only been teenagers and was ever more so now with Peter. So why had the engagement fallen through? Why wasn't Tony married to her now, running around after a whole pack of charmingly trouble-making squirts?

Bruce, seeming to sense his question, elaborated. "They were only ever engaged because after the disaster that was Tony's twenty-first birthday, King Howard insisted on it."

"Disaster?"

"He drank half the wine cellar and announced to the public he would never marry, as love was for pathetic, childish fools." Bruce paused, mulled it over. "The phrasing was looser and his language much more colorful, but his point was quite clear."

Steve's chest felt like someone had cracked it open. Pathetic, childish fools. He'd made Tony feel that way. Made him feel unwanted and foolish and—and—and how had he not considered that? He'd known he'd be hurting Tony for a time, but he'd thought—he didn't know what he'd thought. That Tony would move on. That Tony was too engaging, too brilliant and dynamic and kind to ever be alone long. He had so much to offer and was so willing to share that Steve had known the moment he left ten people would vie to take his place. Who wouldn't fight for the honor to stand at Tony's side? But he'd turned a blind eye to Tony's loyalty, his impossibly stubborn nature. He should've known Tony would've come to a conclusion like that, but he'd hoped…well. He'd been the real fool.

"What happened between them?" Steve cleared his throat after a moment, swallowing down the anger and regret rising ever faster.

"The engagement fell through nearly immediately after Tony's father passed." Bruce seemed to understand his internal conflict, a glimmer of kindness appearing in his expression. "I don't think they were ever in love. No clear reasoning was ever given for the break of it and Lady Virginia left to see the country soon after, though they still exchange letters so things between them clearly remain amicable. Something you could've done, by the way."

"I thought…I left a note, but I thought a clean break would be…" Steve ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "Better. For both of us. No backtracking, no wavering convictions, nothing to do but stick it through."

"A note would've saved him years of confliction," Bruce admitted, "I always got the impression he was torn between hating himself for loving you if you left him and feeling guilty for not trusting you if you'd been taken."

"God." Steve sank down onto the nearest cot, put his face in his hands. "The hell I've put him through…"

Bruce patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

* * *

"—and then, and then!" Tony laughed so hard he had to bend over. "He  _ate_ it!"

Thor's booming laugh echoed through the hall as he joined in, throwing his head back and sloshing his drink in his enthusiasm. Neither of them noticed the first, third, or fifth time someone cleared their throat in the doorway.

"My  _liege,"_ they announced at last, loud enough both men had to look up.

The light that lit Thor's face was immediate and breathtaking.

"My lady!" Thor was up and out of his seat in an instant, placing his drink on the side table and moving to meet Lady Jane in the entranceway. "I thought we were not to meet again until this evening's feast. Did you not have matters to attend to?"

"Your warriors' presence is appreciated, but overbearing." Jane sighed. "I assume the only peace I'll find is with you. You don't mind if I steal him away, do you sire?"

"Go on." Tony waved at them. "We've done all that needs doing for the moment and the patrols won't report back for hours yet. He's all yours."

"Yours indeed." Thor stopped just short of her, then took her in his arms for a kiss that had Jane blushing wildly.

She glanced over Thor's shoulder to Tony in worry—such public displays weren't exactly polite—but Tony only smiled at her kindly and waved them on again with as much indifference as he could muster. He turned back to his drink for a moment, swirled it idly while Thor murmured something to her he didn't try to catch. When they parted, Thor caught his attention.

"Anthony—"

"We'll talk more later." Tony drudged up a smile for him as well. "Go, Thor. I won't hear a word otherwise."

"I thank you again, old friend." Thor was too besotted with Jane's presence to notice anything begrudging about his smile, and Tony was thankful for it. He had no desire to discuss his childish jealousy. "Your benevolence is remarkable and will most assuredly not be forgotten."

Tony urged them out once more and they finally took their leave, beaming at each other brightly, Thor's hand clasped to Jane's back like she was utterly precious to him. Tony took another sip of his drink, then on second thought downed the rest of it. He was happy for his friends, of course. They'd been mooning after each for far too long for him not to be pleased that they'd taken up with each other after all. It simply didn't help that he was making his way to drunk and all he could think of was how Steve used to look at him like that.

Steve had always looked so pleased with him. All he'd ever had to do was walk into the room to earn a smile; toss a glance Steve's way and he'd be at Tony's side in half a moment. He gave and gave, always looking for little ways to show his affection and make certain Tony knew he was loved. It'd been so constant; Steve had been constant. Tony never knew what it was like to not have someone light up for him until he'd been left alone in the dark.

He poured himself another glass.

Did Steve look at him like that anymore? Tony had been so busy avoiding eye contact or shouting him down he hadn't bothered to watch for it. And why the hell should he, anyway? He'd just get his damned hopes up all over again. Steve had chosen to leave him, to run off in the middle of the night and never look back; of course he wasn't going to be mooning at Tony like he had when they'd been hormone-stricken teenagers. Steve didn't give a damn about him anymore. The sooner Tony stopped expecting him to, the better off he'd be. He simply needed—

"Anthony?"

Well. He didn't need this, certainly. Tony pointedly didn't look up—he didn't need to, he'd only heard that voice in his dreams for the entirety of the past decade—scowling instead and reaching for more to drink. The bottle was empty. Empty? When had he emptied it? He'd only had…well. There was only one glass in his hand, that counted as one, didn't it?

"You're soused," Steve seemed surprised to realize, but then, Tony hadn't been a drunkard when he'd been around. Everything had been better, when Steve had been around.

"If you think I'm soused now, you'd have hated me in my early twenties," Tony remarked blithely, "Oh, wait, you did."

"I  _never_  hated you—" Steve began to insist.

"Right, just like 'I'll  _never_ leave you, Tony'," Tony mimicked with a sneer into his pitiably empty glass, "You're a damned better liar than I ever gave you credit for, Rogers, I'll give you that. I can almost understand why I ever bought your sincerity bullshit."

There was a moment of silence, during which Tony did his level best not to look up. He nearly failed, but Steve spoke before he did.

"We shouldn't have this conversation right now." His voice was subdued, quiet. He was hurting, Tony knew, could hear it in his voice though he couldn't fathom why.

"Am I supposed to feel fucking sorry for you?" Tony snorted. "You decided when to leave. You decided when to come back. You knew where I was, knew what I was going through and chose to pretend—"

"I didn't know," Steve rushed to interrupt, "Your parents, your cousins, Pepper, none of it. I avoided news about you because it was painful and I—"

"There you go again." Tony shook his head bitterly. "Another decision you got to make. Another measure of control you got to take from me while I got to sit here on my fucking ass for ten years and hope like hell you were even still  _alive_ because  _you_ didn't deem it necessary to  _fucking tell me you were leaving!"_

It wasn't until the glass crashed against the opposite wall that Tony realized he'd hurled it, wasn't until he swayed afterwards that he realized he'd stood up at all. Steve moved to steady him and Tony jerked away.

"Tony—"

"Don't you fucking touch me," Tony snapped.

There was a long moment of silence, as Tony finally made eye contact only to watch the litany of hurt play out at his rejection. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd thought it'd be. For the first time in possibly his entire life, Tony looked into Steve's eyes and had absolutely no idea what he was thinking.

"I left a note," Steve said finally.

"Your  _cousin_ did _,_ you mean?" Tony sneered.

"I left you a note," Steve repeated more insistently now, taking a step forward. Tony took a step back. Steve didn't try again. "I explained everything and—"

"Explained what, exactly?" Tony barked out a bitter, helpless sort of laugh. "Why you turned me down and left by morning? Why, after spending our entire damn lives together, I didn't even merit a goodbye? Why you left me alone in the first place, at the very time I needed you most?"

"You didn't need me—" Steve began to shake his head. Tony, fueled by anger and alcohol and the desperate, pathetic desire to touch Steve in any way at all, grabbed him by the shirt and shook the thick-headed moron as hard as he could.

"I have  _always_ needed you!"

Steve swallowed hard. He shook his head again, more forcefully, but didn't step back or remove Tony's hands from his shirt.

"I came back to serve at your side, Tony. Not to—to relive old memories."

"Old memories." Tony gave a dry, choked laugh, releasing Steve's shirtfront with a half-hearted shove for good measure. "You mean when you saved my life, turned down my marriage proposal, and left me all in twenty-four hours, those memories?"

"If that's how you remember it." Steve pursed his lips.

"And how do  _you_ remember it then?"

"I remember loving you. More than…" Steve looked away. "More than I ever thought one person could love another, more than any one man had a right to. But I did anyway and when Stane attacked you…what good did love do you? Nothing. You could've died, Tony."

"And how in the hell is that on you?"

"I should've protected you and I couldn't," Steve told him fiercely, "I was weak. You were meant for this life, the one you have. This is how I fit into that. I can't be your husband, but I can be your knight. I can protect you now and that's enough, for me. All I've ever wanted is to keep you safe."

"You never thought to ask me what I might want?"

"I know what you wanted." Steve softened. "I do. You made it clear, but—"

"Couldn't have gotten much clearer than  _marry me."_

"You didn't mean—"

"Don't tell me what I meant," Tony spat.

"We were kids—"

"We were in love." Tony clenched his fists. "I didn't have a  _crush,_ Steve. I may have been overly optimistic about the future at times, but nothing about my love for you was an exaggeration. I asked you to marry me and I damn well meant it."

"You shouldn't have."

"And you shouldn't have left. I guess we all do stupid things."

"I didn't want…" Steve clenched and unclenched his fists, a sign he was anxious and aggravated. "This wasn't what I wanted for you."

"Then maybe you should've helped guide me a bit," Tony told him bitterly, "Even I can't read your mind when you're god knows how far away."

"I tried! _"_ Steve insisted again, "I left you a note. I don't know happened to it, but I put it in your shirt the night I left and—"

"My shirt?"

"Yes!" Steve threw his hands up. "I wrote that I loved you in it, I wasn't going to place it on the damn table where just anyone could read it!"

"My father took my clothes. To be cleaned, he said, but…he never returned them. Said they were too blood-soaked to bother with and threw them away." Tony absorbed that for a long moment, before shaking his head fiercely. "I don't know why it even matters, I can't imagine what you'd say in any godforsaken letter that would change anything—"

"I apologized for failing you—"

"You never fucking failed me!"

" _I did!"_ Steve roared. He shot forward as if to shake Tony by the shoulders, only to clench his hands into fists and drop them at his sides. "You were  _stabbed in the chest,_ you don't think that's a goddamn failure? You don't think that tore me up for weeks, for months, for  _years?_ You don't think all I wanted was to go home to you, to  _beg_  for your forgiveness? I didn't  _deserve_ it, Tony! You would've given it, I know you would have, but I wouldn't have deserved it and I wasn't coming back until I could earn it and I  _can_ now! I'm strong enough, you've seen me in the field, I could fight dragons for you!"

"I never  _asked_  you to fight dragons for me!" Tony shoved him hard, his voice near screaming levels. "You don't think I can fight a dragon? I've got a fucking magical sword and eighteen years of practice on you,  _fuck_ dragons! I needed  _you,_ Steve! I needed my best friend, my lover, my—you were  _everything_ to me and that's what I needed, not some white knight with a fucking hero complex!"

"I don't fit into your life any other way!" Steve looked desperately upset, but it only made Tony more furious. Steve didn't get to be upset. Steve let  _him_ down,  _not_ the other way around— "You're a  _king,_ Tony! I'm some servant's kid you bumped into by chance! I don't  _get_ to be your husband, your lover, your anything! I was blessed enough to call you mine once but we don't get the happy ending! The only role I can fill in your life is knight and I can't  _do_ that if I'm ninety pounds soaking wet!"

"And it never occurred to you that in the meantime I might be fucking devastated? That even if I got your stupid note, I might have one  _hell_  of a say in the matter?"

"You were supposed to move on!"

"Did  _you?"_

"Of course not!"

"Then why in the hell would you ever expect me to?" Tony shouted, "I cried myself to sleep for years over you! All this time, I've been caught between a rock and hard place wondering about you, wondering what in the hell could've happened to you. I thought, surely, you wouldn't leave me of your own will, that I was yours and you were mine and  _surely_ you wouldn't dream of doing something so cruel. But that meant you'd been taken, that you might be hurt or dead or lost forever, and I couldn't bear the thought of it so I thought perhaps it was better imagining you'd left on your own. But that meant imagining I meant so little to you I didn't even deserve a damn goodbye."

"You would've convinced me to stay." Steve seemed unable to look at him again.

"Would that have been so bad?" Tony was helpless to hide the pleading note in his voice.

"What if you'd been attacked again?" Steve shook his head sharply. "What if you died, because you didn't have someone competent watching out for you? You think I could live with that? I couldn't, Tony, I  _can't_ —"

"Who in the hell do you think is watching out for me now?" Tony threw his hands up. "It's the same people who've always watched out for me! The same people who would've watched out for me had you stayed right where you belonged. I'm as defended as I can be! I have my knights and I have myself and I have never,  _not once,_ needed you as a line of defense. I needed your presence. I needed your kinship. I needed your love and you deserted me for what, so you could come back and raise a sword in my name? I have hundreds to do that for me—"

"I left so you could be happy—"

"And any chance I had at that left with you!" Tony shouted, "You stubborn fucking  _jackass!_ What in the hell makes you think you know better than me? That makes you think you get to decide what makes me happy? You made me happy,  _us_ made me happy. And you know, that's what I understand the least about this damned excuse you've cooked up. I was supposed to, what? Find your note and just nod and smile? Go out and find some rosy-cheeked bride and never remember the best damned thing that ever happened to me? How could you possibly think so little of me? We were…" Tony's voice cracked. He hated himself for it just a little more. "Nothing I could find with anyone else would ever begin to compare to what we had. Tell me you knew that."

"I admit," Steve said softly, "I didn't think—didn't  _want_  to think—that you would find a love like ours. But I couldn't have known about Mary and Richard, not then, and you deserved—still deserve—the world, Anthony. Marriage, children, a future. Peter is…God, you've raised him so wonderfully. He's whip smart, and adventuresome, and as mouthy as his father in all the best of ways. You deserve that in your life. You deserve everything, and I couldn't give that to you."

"So your solution was to break my heart."

"My solution was to give you space. I never wanted…" Steve glanced away. "I knew it would hurt. I wasn't blind to that. I knew it would hurt, but I thought that if I stayed away for long enough, that hurt would heal and you would find the things I couldn't give to you on your own without my distraction. I thought that you would forgive me. I still hold out hope for that."

Tony couldn't bring himself to speak for a long moment. Steve watched him in measured, cautious silence.

"If there was any way…" Tony began, unable to meet Steve's eyes. Steve knew immediately what he was asking.

"I would stay." Steve rocked forward half a step, before seeming unsure of his reception and thinking better of it. "Given half a chance at a do-over, I would stay. I left with high hopes and naïve convictions but knowing what I know now I never would have done so. I hurt you without cause, Anthony. I will never cease atoning for that."

The sincerity of Steve's expression was unbearable. He was almost too close for Tony to handle, close enough he could nearly feel the tension in Steve's stance, stiff and restrained and…strangely familiar. It was the way he'd always stood when Lord Stone visited and brought his son, Tiberius. Ty had been overly affectionate at best and handsy at worst, always making Steve look like he was ready to burst out of his skin with the urge to come over and steal Tony away for himself. He looked like that now, itchy, like he could only barely resist the urge to take Tony in his arms again. Before Tony could decide how he felt about that, the door was opening and someone was bustling in. Steve didn't move so much as an inch away; it was Tony who stepped back.

"News?" He glanced at Rhodey with as much composure as he could draw up. Rhodey glanced between them.

"I'm interrupting."

"No," Tony told him at the same time Steve said, "Yes."

"If you're talking, I'm leaving." Rhodey shook his head. "Phil knows perfectly well how to lead a search."

"Just give me the report," Tony demanded with a sigh.

Rhodey only snorted, shooting another glance Steve's way before turning back out the door.

"Tony—" Steve began.

"We're finished here," Tony finished for him firmly, turning on his heel and following out after Rhodey before Steve could say another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony caught up with Rhodey just down the hall, took him by the shoulder and tugged him back. "When I tell you to report, I expect—"

"For Christ's sake, Tony, go back there and talk to him." Rhodey glanced over his shoulder. "Get your answers before you lose your nerve."

"I don't know what you're—" Tony started, but Rhodey cut him off.

"You have never in your entire life looked at  _anyone_ the way you look at him." Rhodey fixed Tony with a look, undeterred by Tony's stunned silence. "What? I'm your best damn friend, you thought I never noticed?"

"You never  _said_ anything."

"And you never  _told me."_ Rhodey slugged him in the shoulder.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, punching your king?" Tony complained, rubbing his shoulder.

"The bastard comes home and you don't even tell me, I earned it." Rhodey socked him again for good measure, but there was no heat to it. "I mean it, Tony. This 'suffer in silence' shtick has gone on long enough, I'm tired of pretending I don't recognize him. I'm not telling you to forgive the fucking martyr, I'm telling you to talk to him and at least get the answers you've been chasing for the better half of a decade."

"I've heard plenty." Tony pursed his lips, glanced away. "He left. His reasons are immaterial."

"And everything's just black and white for you, with him." Rhodey snorted. "Right."

"If anyone else had done this to me…" Tony clenched his teeth.

"No one else could've done this to you. Not like this." Rhodey shook his head. "That's why it hurts like it does. I'm not saying he deserves your forgiveness, not by a long shot. Hell, I'm not saying Happy and I haven't entertained the idea of backing him into a corner and taking a few swings. I'm saying he has answers that will help you find the closure you still need, and if he can help you he damn well has an obligation to."

It wasn't about answers, anymore. Tony had answers. Steve had left to get strong and play hero, he'd been stupid and foolish and always,  _always_ such a fucking martyr. Tony didn't need more answers. He needed time. He needed space. He needed to think, to catch a full breath somewhere away from Steve.

"You came in with something to report, Rhodey," Tony diverted. Rhodey scoffed. "Well?"

"A pack of trolls breached the northeast border of the forest," Rhodey told him reluctantly, "But Phil can—"

"I've matters to speak to Nick about," Tony interrupted, "Use that time to gather the knights. I'll meet you by the front gates."

"Tones, you need to deal with—"

"I am," Tony interrupted again, with a sharp edge of finality, "I did. I talked to him. Tried, anyway, but…I wished for this. I wished for this, over and over and over for ten damn years. I thought he'd return and explain away his disappearance and everything would be… _we_ would be…I suppose I thought we'd be eighteen again, pick up right where we left off as if there'd never been so much as a mile between us, but he's explained himself, or tried, and I just…it's not the same, Rhodey, I want it to be, I want it to be desperately, but it's just—it's not—"

Rhodey pulled him into a hug before Tony could finish trying to explain himself, clasped both arms around him tight enough that Tony couldn't run. He didn't have the energy to fight it anyway, just gave in and wilted against one of his oldest friends.

"He left you." Tony jerked away, but Rhodey just clasped his shoulders. "No, listen. He was young and dumb and he left. That changes things. It's never gonna be the same, Tony, but it can get better. It can. If you want it to."

After a tense moment of silence, Tony glanced away but told him, "Those insistences about a mythical note might not have been so mythical."

"How so?"

"He says he left the note in my shirt; my father took the shirt." Tony pursed his lips bitterly. They'd never gotten on particularly well, but that his father would go that far… "It could've fallen out, but if he did find it there's only one person he would've told."

"Advisor Fury."

"Precisely."

"Go talk to him." Rhodey nodded in the direction of Nick's quarters. "I'll round up the knights. You're certain you want us to wait for you? Last time we ran into trolls it took less than half a day."

"Shouldn't take long." Tony shook his head. "He knows or he doesn't."

"If you say so." Rhodey nodded once more before taking his leave.

Tony…well, he admittedly dallied a moment. Steve was likely still just down the hall. He couldn't have heard Tony's conversation with Rhodey, the castle's walls were far too thick for that, but Tony hadn't heard him leave either. He walked down the hall as silently as he could manage, slowing as he approached the right door. Steve was on just the other side; another life, Tony would walk right in. Would be eager to. Another life and Steve would greet him with a smile, would pull him into his arms without a second's thought. No hesitance, no regrets, no bitter resentment clouding the only good thing Tony had ever touched.

He kept walking.

* * *

It wasn't often that Anthony reminded Nick of Howard.

They had their similarities, but Anthony had always been softer than Howard. There were good points to that, certainly; Anthony was better with his son than Howard had ever been, could draw up compassion at times when Howard would've only had impatience. It also had downsides, particularly in that Nick often found himself disagreeing with Anthony's tactics and decisions. He made too many compromises, was too easily persuaded by wide eyes and sympathetic stories.

Every so often, however, Nick caught glimpses so crystal clear it was like seeing a ghost.

Anthony entered his chambers without preamble, a right he had but didn't often use. There was a tick to his jaw and a flinty look in his eyes, anger visible in his every tensed muscle. Control wasn't always Anthony's specialty, but when he chose to draw on it there was an iron core to him that would've made Howard immensely proud.

"If there's anything you'd like to inform me of." Anthony's words were hard and calculated. His jaw ticked again. Nick hadn't seen him this angry since the incident with Barton's brother. "Perhaps something my father shared with you roughly ten years prior, now would be the time."

Nick had known this conversation was coming. He'd known since Steven's flimsy excuse for a "cousin" had shown up the other week. The resemblance was visible if looked for, but not enough to give the man away; it was the heated looks and bitter arguments that left no one fooled. Nick's thoughts were drawn back to the note, and he wondered for perhaps the hundredth time this week if Howard had truly made the right call.

" _Come in." Howard waved his goblet, gestured for Nick to enter his chambers. "Tell me, how is Anthony? He's returned, has he not?"_

" _He has." Nick closed the door behind him. Howard wasn't a particularly easy to read man, but Nick had known him since they were very young men; something was giving him trouble. "He is much the same."_

" _The search was unsuccessful, then."_

" _Yes." Nick sighed. "Anthony is…greatly disheartened. He hasn't spoken a word to anyone since his return and he's now barricaded himself within his room. I'm afraid he's done something to the lock, my key won't—"_

" _I'm sure he has." Howard waved Nick's concerns off. "But he's stronger than even he believes; he's a Stark. Let him collect himself. He'll come out when he's ready."_

" _He's taking this failure harder than the rest," Nick told him. Howard nodded in understanding._

" _I told him before he left this would be the final search. He can think me callous if he likes, but he can't continue to drain the castle's resources as he is. It's been two moons."_

" _More than fair."_

" _More than you expected of me, you mean." Howard chuckled at Nick, who lifted a shoulder just an inch in concession. "He thinks I don't sympathize. That's how it is, at his age. Anyone who doesn't value precisely what he does and precisely as much is simply wrong."_

" _He misses his friend. He'll understand in time."_

" _I wouldn't be so sure." Howard gave a wry, humorless chuckle. "Lock the door, would you? Maria hears of this she'll have my head for what I've done."_

" _What you've done?" Nick complied, locking the door. There was little Howard would keep from Maria; the phrasing concerned him._

" _My son…" Howard paused a long moment, downing the last of his drink emphatically. "Took a lover."_

_Nick had never noticed anyone out of the ordinary hanging about. Who could Anthony have taken up with? Howard waved his now empty goblet in a go on motion, waiting for Nick to finish the mental picture. It took only a moment._

" _Steven."_

" _Precisely." Howard raised his decanter in cheers, pouring himself more._

" _It explains much, I'll admit."_

" _Doesn't it?" Howard shook his head wryly. "I knew they were far fonder of each other than appropriate. I didn't suspect they'd acted on it, though in retrospect I certainly wonder how I couldn't have."_

_He'd caught the looks from time to time, he supposed…but same as Howard, he'd never thought they'd actually done anything about it._

" _Are you certain?"_

" _Quite." Howard gave a heavy sigh, stepping to his dresser. He opened the small drawer in the top left, removed the false bottom and retrieved the letter. He passed it to Nick. "When I took Anthony's clothes to be washed the morning after the attack, I found this in his shirt pocket."_

_Nick accepted the already opened letter, absorbed its contents in silence. He couldn't help the climb of his eyebrows with every sentence. It took quite a bit to faze him, but then, the letter fell easily into that category. He could feel Howard watch on with faint amusement in spite of everything._

" _I always thought he was good for Anthony," Howard mused, leaning against the dresser, "Didn't think of it as a match at the time, of course, but as a companion Steven complimented him well. Helped Anthony cool his heels, keep his temper. He was of strong character, too, in his own right; though he certainly hasn't the build for it I've seen him jump into a fight more than once on Anthony's behalf without hesitation. Rather impressively literate for someone of his age and class as well, though I suspect Anthony had a hand in that."_

" _I've caught Anthony stealing books out of the library before," Nick realized, "I always wondered why he bothered when he could come back at any time."_

" _Class I could've ignored, you know," Howard admitted, "It's been done before, and Steven's been living here since he was young. Anything he didn't know by now he could've simply learned. Were he a woman, I'd have had them long engaged by now. The situation being as it is…I admit I have much respect for Steven. Had Maria been a man, had I been forced into such a position…I'm not certain I would've allowed another into her heart no matter the cost to her future."_

" _Leaving to allow Anthony to marry…intending to return as a knight and nothing more…" Nick gave a heavy sigh. "Rather noble in theory, but does he really think Anthony would give in so simply?"_

" _Steven's own desire to leave a letter blinded him." Howard shook his head. "If Anthony gets this, if he knows for certain that Steven will return? He'll simply dig in his heels and wait it out. He'll never take a wife, not while knowing Steven still returns his affections."_

" _You want him to doubt Steven's intentions."_

" _Not to be cruel." Howard pursed his lips. "I'm aware it will sting. But rough though it may be, I believe it's the smoothest path."_

" _The smoothest path to marriage. Not the smoothest for Anthony." It wasn't a rebuke, just a comment._

" _One ought to equal the other, in time." Howard sighed. He seemed to hope, anyway. "A wife will help him heal."_

" _She might." Nick was more dubious of that._

" _This is hardly an official matter, don't bother to curb your tongue." Howard waved a hand impatiently for him to speak his mind._

" _I've always known they shared a deep bond. I thought it friendship, but regardless of its nature a trust of that measure broken is not easily mended. I doubt Anthony will see a wife as anything more than a replacement." Nick fell silent a moment, re-reading the letter. Then he folded it up, returned it. Howard wasn't second-guessing himself, wasn't the kind to. He'd do anything necessary for his kingdom and for his son; still, Nick knew his opinion was valued. "Steven's intentions seem true, but he is young yet. They both are. Emotions are volatile, at that age. Only time will tell the nature of this all."_

_Howard nodded absently, seeming to agree. He turned the letter over in his hands once, before tucking it away again. "Though my son will be a fine king one day, he has yet to fully grasp the nature of the crown. Steven, oddly enough, seems to understand it better: we belong to our people before we belong to ourselves. Anthony owes his kingdom a future, an heir, before he owes himself love. I hope one day he might heal enough to allow himself both."_

" _Will you tell him, then?"_

" _If Steven returns." Howard nodded. "If he doesn't, the past may as well stay buried. But if he does—and, if he knows my son as well as I suspect he does, that won't be for many years—I'll give Anthony the letter then. He'll scream at me until he's hoarse, I'm sure, but my son is intelligent beyond his years. He'll know my reasons, and he'll understand."_

Nick hadn't envied the choice Howard had to make then, and he didn't appreciate being left to pick up the pieces of it now.

"I asked you a question," Anthony demanded, the sharp tone immediately pulling Nick from his lapse into reverie, "I expect an answer."

"There was no right time," Nick said finally. He moved to his desk, opening the top drawer and removing the false bottom. "Not for something like this."

"You  _have_ it?" Anthony seemed torn between anger and something close to relief, though there was certainly a fair amount of bewilderment. "You've had that for ten goddamn years and you never…do you not have an ounce of mercy in you?"

"Showing you wasn't my decision to make." Nick shook his head, withdrawing the note from the drawer.

"Whose was it, exactly?" Anthony grit his teeth. "Certainly not mine, as I clearly don't make any decisions around here at all."

"Your father thought—"

"Don't." Tony held up a hand firmly, then turned it palm up in demand for the letter. "That's plenty. I don't need to hear whatever it is Howard told himself. Just…give me the letter."

Nick nodded. He disagreed, but he could attempt an explanation again when Anthony had calmed. He passed it over and Anthony accepted the letter carefully, his fingers running over the edges of the parchment with an anxious sort of care. He seemed to realize he was doing it after a moment, hastily tucking the letter into his shirt pocket and giving Nick a stiff nod. Nick gave a sigh as Anthony left without another word, wondering how long he'd have to wait for Anthony to clear the hallway before he could leave himself in search of a drink.

It was what Howard would've done, after all.

* * *

It was a long time before Steve could bring himself to leave the room. Should he have gone after Tony? He wasn't certain. He was never certain what to do when it came to Tony anymore, which was unnerving in and of itself. He'd always known how to act around him, when to reach out and when to give him time, how to respond. Now…he couldn't be sure. Time had muddled things he'd only ever known to be crystal clear. He could relearn Tony's cues and of course he wanted to, would always want to, but did Tony want him to? Did Tony want him at all? Steve had never seen him so angry, so bitter and resentful and miserable all at once. He deserved every inch of retribution Tony could deal out, he knew, but he couldn't help wondering if all that rage had clouded Tony's love for him or already dissolved it.

More importantly, Steve supposed, did he even still deserve it? Even if Tony could forgive him, Bruce had been right; having all the facts laid out in front of him, Steve wasn't certain he could forgive himself. He'd known he'd hurt Tony, but to come face to face with the true consequences of his actions was another matter entirely. He'd thrown Tony's trust away on a naïve, zealous impulse, and for what? Tony hadn't found anyone else, hadn't even needed to. With Peter…

God, Peter.

Peter was a blood heir, though indirect. Peter could rule one day. Nothing about Steve's leaving had put anything into place there, his presence couldn't have prevented a fire in some other part of the kingdom, Peter would've always fallen into Tony's custody but if Steve had stayed…he would've been there, too. With an heir lined up, who was to say they couldn't have had every ludicrous, wildly hopeful dream they'd ever dreamed? They could've married, could've taken in Peter together, could've been together all this time and for all the years to come, could've—could've—

They could've had  _everything._

The weight of that was utterly crushing. It settled heavy on Steve's shoulders as he fell into the nearest chair, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands to fight back the urge to break something, anything, something physical and tangible and satisfying, before he was the one who broke.

He'd left for nothing. He'd thrown away Tony's trust and broken both their hearts and tortured himself for the last decade for nothing.  _Nothing._ He'd been an idiot and a martyr, everything Tony had called him and more. He could've had everything he'd ever wanted and he'd thrown it away on a childish, bitter whim. A tantrum, Bruce had called it, and a tantrum it was. What would it have been? Two, three years? He'd gone ten without so much as seeing Tony's face, he could've easily waited that long to be the happiest damn man in the world. Easily was an understatement; two, three years of having Tony in his arms, even in secret, sounded like nothing short of bliss. Two or three years and they could've had everything, but he'd been impatient and controlling and a Goddamned  _idiot!_

He wished Tony hadn't already thrown the bottle. The shatter would've been satisfying.

He needed to move, to get some of this manic energy out before he let himself explode. He went in search of Bucky, who would be certain to give a good fight and was never afraid to hit low or fight dirty if he thought Steve needed a good beating to get out of his own head for a little while. His quarters were empty, as well as Sam's. Steve tried seeking out Barton next, who'd proved himself skilled and certainly wouldn't be adverse to handing Steve his ass a few times, but he found his friends along the way.

Well, found might not have been quite the right word.

He slammed into Bucky as he rounded a corner, Bucky running with enough momentum to nearly knock them both off their feet. Steve was about to catch his arm to steady the both of them when he caught sight of Peter balanced precariously on Bucky's shoulders. He reached for Peter instead, grabbing his wrists to yank him back upright.

"What were you thinki—?" Steve started, but Sam slammed into Bucky's back before he could finish. Peter teetered again, until Steve grabbed both his legs and held him steady.

"Why the hell did you stop like that?" Sam demanded of Bucky, then glanced over his shoulder. "Oh."

"Aw, Joe, don't give me that look," Bucky complained before Steve could even speak, "We were just having some fun."

"You were asking for trouble, running around like that." Steve shook his head. It would probably be funnier if he were in a better mood.

"Aw, Joe, c'mon," Peter chimed in, clearly mimicking Bucky, "I know how to hold on, Daddy taught me real good. Watch, see?"

He threw both arms around Bucky's throat tight as he could. Bucky made an indignant, squawking sort of sound as he choked, and Steve couldn't help a chuckle.

"Think you might be slipping off," Sam observed with a sly grin, "Better hold on a little tighter."

Bucky delivered a swift elbow to Sam's stomach, which did nothing to stop Sam from laughing harder as Peter squeezed tighter.

"Okay," Bucky wheezed, "I think that's enough for now."

"But then who's gonna be my horse?" Peter pouted as best he could, but Bucky hauled him down regardless. He turned to Sam, clasping both hands together.

"Uh uh, no way." Sam snorted. "I saw your deathgrip, kid."

Peter turned to Steve instead, pout at full power as he took Steve's pant leg in his little hands and tugged. "Pretty please, Just Joe?"

Steve gave a sigh of defeat. Peter grinned immediately. Bucky just looked at him knowingly as he lofted Peter into his arms, gave him a boost up to his shoulders. Peter threw both arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek against the back of Steve's head gratefully.

"See?" Peter must've made a face of sorts, judging by Bucky and Sam's amused expressions. "Joe likes me."

"He sure does." Bucky got a sneaky look in his eyes. "In fact, I bet you could get Joe to do just about anything you asked."

"That's not—" Steve began, but Peter bounced a little on his shoulders. Steve had to grab Peter's legs to keep him from falling as he leaned forward enough that he was almost off Steve's shoulders entirely, making upside down eye contact.

"Really? Would you take me on an adventure?" Peter's whole expression lit up. Steve was powerless.

"Sure." Steve smiled back at him. "We can have as many adventures as you want."

"How selfless of you." Someone cleared their throat behind Steve. He turned to face a rather impassive-looking Rhodey. "But at the moment, we've got an assignment."

"Aw." Peter tugged on Steve's hair a little, sounding despondent. "Does Just Joe hafta go, too? We were gonna have an adventure."

"Joe does as he pleases. Always has before." Rhodey narrowed his eyes at Steve. Steve was taken aback by Rhodey's directness, but before he could respond Rhodey was continuing, "If the three of you are coming, retrieve your armor and report to the front gates. We leave when the king is finished speaking with his advisor."

"Sir Rhodes—"

"The front gates, Sir Grant," Rhodey repeated firmly, then turned on his heel.

"Who pissed in his goblet?" Bucky muttered.

Steve reached up to cover Peter's ears. "Bucky."

"What?" Bucky protested.

"So you're gonna stay with me, right Joe?" Peter hugged his head.

"Well…" Steve glanced after Rhodey.

Tony would likely be on this assignment; he and Steve had always been alike in that respect, seeking out a good fight whenever their emotions were running too high. He wasn't certain he was ready to face Tony again so quickly, even in public. Perhaps especially in public. Tony's disinterested façade might have been necessary for the sake of appearances, but it never failed to make Steve's heart ache.

"Stay." Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Peter, you're in charge of this lug while we're gone and he comes with instructions: no brooding allowed. Got it?"

"I don't brood," Steve protested, but Peter was already nodding vigorously.

"Sir yes sir," Peter told Sam cheerfully, "Y'hear that, Joe?  _I'm_ in charge."

"Yeah, I heard." Steve flicked his leg. "Squirt."

"Lug," Peter shot back, mimicking Sam now. A certain pair of someones had clearly won him over.

"You've been spending way too much time with these two," Steve decided.

"He better." Bucky reached up to ruffle Peter's hair, much to Peter's indignation, with a wink at Steve. "We're gonna be family."

Steve's good mood instantly evaporated. "That's not funny."

"Don't be such a sourpuss." Bucky rolled his eyes. "I see how he looks at you."

"Bucky—" Sam started to intervene.

"We are?" Peter bounced excitedly. "I always wanted a brother!"

"I was thinking more along the lines of uncle," Bucky mused.

"Not funny." Steve grit his teeth, the urge to break something seeping back into his system. He muttered instead, "Even if I could ever manage to be that lucky twice, you're not my brother."

"Words hurt, Joe." Bucky clasped a hand over his heart.

"Bucky, quit being a d—" Sam glanced up at Peter. "—unghead about it."

Peter giggled anyway. "Yeah, Bucky, don't be a dunghead."

"But Uncle Bucky has such a great ring to it," Bucky protested.

"Let's go." Sam nudged him along. "You're done talking for the day. Every time you open your mouth his kicked puppy face just gets worse."

"Kicked—hey, I—"

"You too." Sam gestured for him to shut up. "Save it. We're talking when we get back anyway, don't think we didn't catch your Tony Look earlier."

Steve opened his mouth to protest that he didn't have a Tony Look, but it would've been a lie and all three of them would've known it. Hell, Peter probably would've known it.

"What were you lookin' at my daddy for?" Peter asked curiously as Bucky and Sam left to retrieve their armor.

"A multitude of reasons." Steve sighed. "It's complicated."

"What's a multude?"

"Multitude. It means a lot."

"Like cause he's king?" Peter asked, "Is that a reason?"

"I suppose," Steve answered evasively. If that was one of his reasons, it was certainly a very low one.

"Bruce says when Sir Rhodey gets the 'Tony Look' it means he's got a headache," Peter told him, "Does Daddy give you headaches too?"

Heartaches, maybe. "No. Well, not anymore."

"He used to?" Peter crossed both arms over Steve's head, resting his chin there.

"All the time." Steve couldn't help a fond smile. "The things your father got up to drove me nuts. He was always dragging me into one scheme or another, and he always managed to wind up with a new bump or bruise, another scar for his collection."

"When?" Peter quirked his head a little.

"When we were ki—" Steve froze. "When, ah. When we've been on assignments these past weeks, mostly. Entirely. So how about that adventure, huh?"

"Oh." Peter seemed to still be considering Steve's slip for a moment, before the idea of an adventure fully registered. "Yeah! Where can we go?"

"I know the perfect place. Where's your room? You'll need a bag."

"It's next to Daddy's, in the west end." Peter played with a strand of Steve's hair as Steve started off in that direction. "What do I need a bag for?"

"Every proper adventurer needs a bag. Your father's the best adventurer I know, he must've taught you that much." Steve could still remember the gleam in Tony's eyes as he'd looped an old satchel around Steve's neck before yanking him along by the strap, shouting about pixies in the glen and, "You never know what interesting things you could encounter on an adventure, you have to be prepared."

"That makes sense," Peter decided, patting Steve's hair down, "So where are we going? How are we gonna get there? Am I gonna need my mud shoes? Or what about my sword, in case of bandits? Are we gonna go into bandit territory?"

"You Starks, always so nosy." Steve laughed. "It's a surprise, you'll find out where we're going when we get there. Though, mud shoes might be a good idea."

"There's gonna be mud?" Peter brightened, like any proper seven year old boy would.

"Thought you might like that." Steve grinned.

"Y'sure I shouldn't take my sword?" Peter tried again, "I'm real handy with it."

"Any bandits come after you, I've got all we need right here." Steve squeezed Peter's ankles lightly.

"My feet?" Peter peered down at him curiously.

Steve laughed. "My hands. Not that there'll be bandits where we're going, but should they surprise us I'm better with hand to hand than I am with a sword anyway. We'll be just fine."

"I hope they do." Peter bounced a little. "Cause you'd go tougher on them than the knights, right? Kick their butts if they came after me? That'd be real neat."

"Of course I would." Steve frowned up at him. "Peter, do people come after you often?"

"No." Peter shrugged. "Only the once."

"The once? Did they catch whoever tried?"

"Oh, yeah." Peter nodded vigorously. "Sir Happy says it was a real big deal. They won't tell me what happened, but Daddy said he won't ever, ever come back."

"Ah." An execution, then. Probably Tony's first. Another event Tony could've used his support in and Steve had been nowhere to be found.

"Can I get a hint?" Peter pestered after a moment, "Just a little one?"

"What's blue and rhymes with moon?" Steve queried.

"Aw, not a riddle," Peter complained, "That's hard."

"You wanted a hint," Steve chuckled, "There's your hint."

"Boon? Tune? Dune? Loon? Goon? Boon? Foon?" Peter, like his father, clearly wasn't one to puzzle in silence.

"Foon isn't a word," Steve corrected with a laugh, "And I think you said boon twice. Do you know what a boon is?"

"No, is it blue?"

"It's a treasure."

"We're going treasure hunting?" Peter bounced excitedly, almost wiggling right off Steve's shoulders.

"Yes, though that's not what's blue and rhymes with—"

"Treasure!" Peter whooped, ignoring the latter part of Steve's sentence. Steve let him; judging by his guessing pattern, Steve doubted he would get to "lagoon" anytime soon.

"Which door, Pete?" Steve asked as he approached the west corridor, pulling a reluctant Peter off his shoulders.

"That one." Peter pointed to the second to last door on the left. "You'll let me back up once I got my stuff, right?"

"I'm not sure…" Steve teased, "You're rather heavy…"

"But what's an adventurer without his noble steed?" Peter insisted. Steve laughed loud enough they probably heard him in the east end.

"What, so I'm just your horse, that's how it is?"

"Duh." Peter grinned cheekily. "Dunghead."

"Think you're going to get away with that, do you?" Steve declared, grabbing at Peter's side to tickle him. Peter gave a giggly sort of shriek and took off down the hall. Steve gave chase, giving him just enough space to get to the door before swooping in to scoop him up and tickle him more. "You're secretly a little brat, aren't you? Just like your fath—"

The door next to Peter's opened. Steve froze.

Tony stood less than a yard away, clearly caught just as off guard as Steve. For a flicker of a moment, the walls between them vanished and Steve could read him like they were eighteen again, young and naïve and absolutely perfect together. He'd clearly heard what Steve had said, or half said, but he'd also heard the fondness of Steve's tone and understood the comment for the display of affection it was instead of the insult someone else might take it for. He saw the rush of longing in Tony's eyes, could see the blur of thoughts, the messy mix of what-ifs and could-have-beens all blended together. But it was only a moment, then the walls were back up and Tony composed himself and stepped forward to pinch Peter's arm.

"You're not terrorizing my knights again, are you?"

"No,"Peter insisted petulantly, "He's ter'rizing me, he's using tickle torture!"

"He's a cheater, that one." Tony nodded sagely, taking another step forward to press a kiss to Peter's forehead and advise, "Get him behind the knees, he'll cry like a baby."

"That is blatantly untrue," Steve protested on principle.

"I remember differently," Tony hummed, the beginnings of what might've been a smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

"I remember that if you so much as pretend to tickle a certain someone's neck he'll leap out of his skin." Steve was all but beaming back, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. He felt so inordinately pleased with even the smallest of smiles; not only was it a step forward, but it was the first one he'd earned from Tony in ten years and damn if that didn't make him feel more buzzed than alcohol ever had.

"That was shared in confidence," Tony groaned, a touch dramatic for Peter's sake, "If Peter knows, the whole  _kingdom_  will know! My secret's out for good."

"Nu-uh!" Peter scowled. "I can keep a secret!"

"Who reported to Bruce whenever I sneezed last sick season?" Tony demanded with an aura of faux sternness.

"He made me!" Peter insisted, "He used a spell or somethin'!"

"He did  _not."_ Tony poked Peter in the side, earning a giggle. "Don't you lie to me."

"Okay, he didn't," Peter admitted, before adding hastily, "But I can too keep a secret!"

"Not from me, you can't." Tony pinched his nose.

"Can too!" Peter swatted Tony's hand away and stuck out his tongue. "I have one right now."

"Oh really?" Tony raised an amused eyebrow. "Is it that you've got a little bit of a crush on that Gwendolyn girl, because—"

" _Dad!"_ Peter yelped. He glanced up at Steve worriedly. "I do not!"

"I promise I won't tell, Peter." Steve just laughed.

"I  _don't,"_ Peter insisted, before pausing guiltily, "But you promise?"

"Cross my heart and swear to die," Steve told him solemnly. He missed the exact moment Tony's mood shifted, but when he glanced back up the almost-smile he'd worked for had disappeared. It'd been replaced with a tight, too-thin attempt that came out more like a grimace.

"And you always keep your promises, don't you?"

Steve wilted. "Tony—"

"No." Tony shook his head, started to walk past. "I shouldn't have—never mind it. Let's just—I was leaving anyway, we've got an assignment. Be good, Peter."

"Tony, wait, Peter and I were going to—remember the muddy lagoon down past that old clearing, through Hangman's Grove?"

"Yes…" Tony said tentatively, "The one with all the—?"

"Right," Steve interrupted hastily before Tony could ruin the surprise for Peter, "I bet it's still full of those. I was going to take Peter and show him. If that's okay, obviously, you weren't around and I—but if you wanted to come, I'd really—that'd be—you always found the best ones anyway, I just thought maybe you could—"

Tony put him out of his misery with a shake of his head. "I should go with the others."

"Aw, c'mon Daddy!" Peter all but launched himself out of Steve's arms to grab Tony's arm. "Please? It's gonna be an adventure! Joe says you're the best at adventures!"

"Does he now?" A bit of amusement flickered in Tony's eyes before he tamped it down again.

"Because you are." Steve aimed for earnest, hoping to bring Tony's good humor back. "You don't have to, but I'd really like it if you came, Tony."

The pause before Tony answered was awful and felt absolutely endless.

"I must be out of my mind," Tony mumbled. Steve's hopes jumped. "Don't look at me like that, just try not to abandon Peter and I in the middle of the forest."

The comment stung, but that was okay. That was more than okay, that was fine, was great, was utterly perfect and Steve would happily—well, gracefully, at least—accept a million more jabs like that if it meant Tony would begin consenting to spend time with him again.

"Never," Steve swore.

Tony snorted, understanding and dismissing Steve's larger promise, but that was okay too. That was a start.


	7. Chapter 7

For perhaps the hundredth time in the past half hour, Tony couldn't help but wonder what in the hell he was doing.

He considered, yet again, backing out and doubling back to meet up with the knights, but he'd already sent a serving hand to tell them not to wait; they'd be long gone by now. He shot another glance Steve's way. Peter had grabbed Steve's hand at one point for help getting over a log and hadn't let go since, bouncing along at Steve's feet as they made their way through the woods. Steve didn't seem to mind, was just beaming down at Peter happily and listening to him chatter away, something about a riddle and things that rhymed with moon. Tony couldn't help the clench of wistful longing at the image, nor the way his heart clung to it.

Perhaps if he took one of the faster horses he could still catch up with the knights.

"What d'you think, Daddy?" Peter twisted to his right to peer up at Tony eagerly.

"Don't cheat." Steve shook Peter's hand in reprimand. "He already knows where we're going."

"You've been there before?" Peter asked, "You've seen the treasure?"

"Many times." Tony nodded.

"How come you never took me?" Peter demanded.

"It was S—" Tony cleared his throat. He was getting too careless. "Joe found it. It's Joe's treasure to share."

"Have you been back there?" Steve asked, carefully meeting his eyes. "Since the last time?"

"Why would I?" Tony shrugged stiffly. It was a non-answer, but the thought of telling Steve how many times he'd gone out there to sit on their rock and wait for someone who'd never come was entirely unappealing.

"No reason, I suppose." Steve looked away.

"Hey, Just Joe?" Peter squeezed Steve's hand eagerly for his attention. Tony wasn't certain where the 'just' had come from, but Steve was smiling again so it seemed to make sense to him, at least. An inside joke, he supposed. He wasn't entirely certain how he felt about Steve having inside jokes with his son. "Can Bucky and Sam come next time?"

"You're getting a little lax with your 'sirs' there, Pete," Tony warned. Most of the knights told Peter just to call them by name, but it was still disrespectful to do so without permission. "Did they say you could?"

"It's fine, Bucky's gonna be my uncle," Peter chirped. Tony stumbled. Steve reached over to steady him, but Tony jerked his arm away. Steve held his gaze a moment, before dropping it along with his outstretched hand.

"I told you, Peter." Steve sighed softly. "He isn't going to be anyone's uncle."

"He's right. I'd have to marry for that, and we're all quite aware that's never happening." Tony couldn't help the bitter vitriol with which he said it any more than he could help himself from elbowing Steve a little as he moved past him. "Come along, Peter. It's just around the corner here."

Steve followed in silence, which Tony supposed said enough. It wasn't as if he'd been hoping—at least, he hadn't genuinely  _believed—_ well. Maybe he had. Maybe a small part of him had thought…Steve had come back, after all. Too late and too stubborn, but he'd come back. They'd fought and ignored each other in turns, but he was back, he was  _here._ He was less than a fucking yard away and Tony…he'd hoped. That was his problem, wasn't it? Always hoping too much, always holding on too long, always grasping for one last chance at something he should've known he could never keep.

"Tony…" Steve started, but Peter was interrupting loudly before he could get anything more substantial out.

"Is that it? Are we here? Wow!"

They'd just passed the last cluster of trees, revealing their destination. It was just as beautiful as Tony remembered it, the grass spotted with flowers and the lagoon just down the hill glittering in the sunlight. It'd been years since he'd been here last. Not a decade, but at least a year or two. Little had changed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture it; taking Steve's hand and whisking him off down the hill with a whoop of laughter as they lost their footing. There was no making it down that hill without slipping, it was too steep and too muddy, impossible to walk down so they'd long stopped trying. They just went with it, sliding down together and laughing like idiots. They'd spent entire days here before, stripping down and wading into the water, seeking out its treasures or just splashing around and having fun, spending the later hours lying out on the largest, flattest rock to try and dry themselves before they had to go back home. They'd always returned starved, dehydrated, and burnt brown as berries, but with smiles so wide it nearly hurt. It'd been worth it, though. Everything back then had always been so worth it.

"How do we get down there?" Peter peered down the steep hill.

"We slide." Steve grinned, giving Peter the lightest of pushes, just enough to land him on his butt. He skidded down the rest of the hill, laughing like a maniac the whole way.

"He'll need a bath tonight, now," Tony couldn't help pointing out, irrationally annoyed. There wasn't any real reason for it, he'd given Peter a hundred baths and it wasn't as if taking care of his son was any  _real_ hardship, but it wasn't about that. It was about this damn place and how it made him think, how Steve kept fucking _smiling_ at him and how that wasn't helping either. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to wrangle him into a bathtub?"

"No," Steve admitted quietly, smile dropping. Tony expected to feel better; he felt worse.

"It's a nightmare," he snapped, "He shrieks like a banshee."

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"Sorry for what?" Tony spat, "Can you even keep track of it all anymore?"

"Everything," Steve answered immediately, "All of it, I just—"

He reached to take Tony's wrist again, maybe to keep him there since he could likely sense that Tony felt like fleeing, he wasn't sure. He yanked his hand away anyway, hissing, " _Stop_  trying to touch me!"

Steve pulled back immediately, the hurt in his expression not tucked away nearly fast enough to escape Tony's notice. "I don't mean to. It's—old habit. I'll try to stop."

"Do." Tony didn't waste time thinking about how strange it still felt to deny Steve's touch, to push him away instead of pull him in. "You came back to serve at my side not relive old memories, remember?"

Steve shook his head. "I came back for you, Tony. My place is wherever you want me."

"Don't," Tony ordered harshly. Didn't he know how cruel it was to say things like that? "You didn't give a damn about where I wanted you back then, am I supposed to believe you do now?"

"I'll have to earn it." A fierce, all too familiar determination had begun to seep into Steve's eyes. "I know that. But I will, Tony. No matter how long it takes, I swear to you that I'll never stop trying to earn your trust back."

Tony didn't know how to respond to Steve's earnest sincerity so he didn't attempt to, just dropped into the mud and slid down the hill to Peter. When he reached the bottom, he stood, brushed himself off as best he could, and scooped up Peter by the back of his shirt.

"Try not to swim in the mud, would you? Honestly."

"I'm  _not,"_ Peter insisted, "I'm lookin' for the treasure."

"The treasure's in the lagoon," Tony told him, ruffling his mud-streaked hair, "Come on, I'll show you."

They made their way past the muddy, swampy area surrounding it and approached the lagoon itself. Tony unlaced his boots and took them off, putting them by where Peter had abandoned his bag. He then cuffed his trousers and did the same for Peter before letting him run into the water.

"All I see are rocks," Peter admitted, poking his toes around in the sand.

"Hm." Tony bent down a little, sifted through the sand until he recognized the feel of what he was looking for. He lifted the heftier rock out of the sand, turning it over to show Peter. "Nothing special about this?"

Peter looked at him with obvious confusion. "It's just a rock, Daddy."

"If you say so…"

Tony couldn't help an amused smile, standing upright again and turning to heave it as hard as he could manage against the large rock formation at the base of the hill. The rock cracked and splintered into various pieces that fell to the grass. Peter gaped up at him.

"Whoa," he whispered, awestruck.

"Daddy's a little stronger than you thought, huh?" Tony teased him. Peter nodded vigorously. "Come on, let's go collect our treasure."

Peter's amazement dipped back into confusion. "But it's still just a rock."

"You think so?" Tony retrieved the first piece, tossed it lightly to Peter. Peter's eyes went wide.

"Whoa!"

He'd picked a good one; this particular geode was filled with purple-pink crystals that glittered in the sun as Peter tilted it back and forth.

"They're called geodes," Steve told Peter, "They're special rocks with crystals inside them."

"Can I touch them?" Peter already had a finger hovering over the edges.

"I wouldn't press too hard, the tips can be a little pointy, but you can touch it if you're careful." Tony nodded.

Peter turned it over in his hands, mouth still hanging open a little as he examined it with stunned amazement.

"Are they all like this?" Peter glanced down at the rocks by his feet.

"Some of them." Tony rejoined him in the water to try and find another. "You want to find big rocks that feel lighter than they should be."

"They're also pretty circular," Steve added, discarding his boots to join them, "And a little rough on the outside."

"Is this one?" Peter lofted a rock up, big enough to almost drag him fully into the water.

"Too big," Tony advised. He ferreted out another, passed it over to Peter to examine. Peter still needed two hands, but this one seemed easier for him to lift. "This size is good. And like I said, lighter than you'd think."

"Can I throw it?" Peter bounced a little. Tony laughed.

"It takes a pretty good throw, buddy. You might need to get a bit bigger before you can do this yourself."

"But can I  _try?"_ Peter insisted eagerly.

"Sure." Tony smiled, pointing out exactly where he should throw it. "Alright, like I taught you: left foot forward, right hand back. Little farther, there you go."

"Like this?"

"Your elbow's a little wide," Tony corrected, adjusting Peter's elbow. "Good, you've got it. Give it your best."

Peter scrunched up his face and chucked it hard as he could. He recoiled almost immediately, turning away and wincing almost as soon as he let go. It threw his throw off, but the geode wasn't going to make it to the rock face anyway. It landed with a splash in the water, drawing Peter's attention. His face fell and he looked horribly disappointed, a bit like he might begin to cry, so Tony quickly crouched to his level, began to calm him down.

"These rocks are a just little too heavy for you right now, Pete. Give it a year or two, you'll be great at it."

"I bet he could do it." Peter kicked one of the rocks, shooting an embarrassed glance at Steve.

"Can I tell you a secret, Peter?" Steve approached them slowly, like he was worried Tony might shoo him away. Part of Tony wanted to. He didn't though, so Steve crouched down with them. "When I was your age, I'm not even sure I could  _lift_ that rock you just threw, much less get it that far."

"Really?" Peter gave a little sniff, rubbing at his nose, which was a good sign that he was settling down. Peter had always been a bit quick to cry, but they'd been working on it lately.

"Definitely." Steve nodded. "I was so small a gust of wind could knock me down. You're much stronger than I was."

"But you're real strong now," Peter pointed out.

"I guess that means you're going to be even stronger than me someday, huh?" Steve smiled at Peter kindly.

"You think?" Peter brightened a little.

"I sure do," Steve told him, smile widening, "In fact, I think you'll be the best of all of us."

"Thanks, Just Joe." Peter finally gave a full smile. Tony bumped his shoulders a little.

"I've only told you that a hundred times," Tony teased him, "But when  _he_ says it you believe him?"

"You're my daddy, you  _hafta_ say it," Peter protested, but affectionately wrapped his arms around Tony's neck anyway. Tony hoisted him up, going in search of where Peter's geode had fallen.

"Doesn't mean it's not true. How about we give that a second go?" Tony kissed Peter's cheek, then bent to pick up what he was fairly sure was the right rock—well, it wasn't as if Peter would know, anyway—and placed it in Peter's hand. "Alright, stretch your arm back."

"But I can't do it." Peter's pout began to return, so Tony clicked his tongue.

"None of that, no pouting. How old are you?"

"Seven," Peter mumbled.

"My big boy, right? Come on, get that arm back." Tony waited until Peter complied, then, "Now close your eyes."

"Why?"

"You gonna ask me questions all day, or are you gonna listen?" Tony teased. Peter huffed an exaggerated, annoyed sigh before closing his eyes. Tony used his free hand to take the geode from Peter's palm and chuck it at the rock face. Peter's eyes shot open just in time to watch it splinter and crack open. "Wow, what a throw, Pete!"

"Da-ad." Peter rolled his eyes, but he was hiding a smile so Tony considered it a win.

"Heck of a throw," Steve agreed, fighting a smile much like Peter was, "Much better than your father."

"Better than you could do." Teasing him came naturally, without a second thought; it was Steve's pleased smile and how much it hurt to see that brought Tony back to reality. He glanced away. Steve, seeming to sense the moment wasn't meant to last, didn't say anything further. "Why don't you find us some more, Peter?"

"I find 'em, you throw 'em?" Peter squirmed out of his grip.

"Sounds perfect."

Tony pressed another quick kiss to Peter's cheek before letting him down and watching him set off in search. He seemed to put in a genuine effort to stay dry for a minute or two, but it quickly became apparent that cuffing his pants to keep him dry had been wishful thinking on Tony's part; soon enough, Peter was practically swimming to find more geodes for he and Steve to crack open.

"Peter." Tony raised an eyebrow at him once he surfaced. "You know this means you're going to have a bath tonight."

"Isn't this a bath?" Peter splashed his hands a little. He seemed to have given up completely on staying dry, now sitting in the sand with his chin just an inch or two above water.

"Definitely not." Tony warily eyed the slimy-looking plant touching Peter's leg. "Besides, you've got sand in your hair, we'll need to wash it out."

"I do not." Peter scowled petulantly, taking a gulp of air before ducking back under the water.

Steve had been quiet for a while now. Tony was torn between the desire to stir up some form of conversation and the knowledge that it would only be awkward. What could he even say? Small talk seemed a little pathetic honestly, in light of everything, not to mention somewhat ridiculous—

"You're a wonderful father."

It took him a moment to realize Steve had actually spoken. When he did, he couldn't help the way his shoulders stiffened on a shrug. "I've had practice."

"I always thought you would be." Steve wasn't looking at him but at Peter, watching him with a small smile. Tony glanced over as well. Peter was coming up for air sporadically, but he was busy collecting geodes to crack open and paying them little to no attention even when he could hear them. Steve continued before Tony could respond. "Do you remember when that griffin took up nest in part of the kingdom?"

"Hard thing to forget," Tony admitted, though he didn't understand Steve's segue.

"We went out to chase it out—"

" _I_ went to chase it out," Tony interrupted crossly, " _You_ refused to get off my damn horse."

"Right." A flicker of a smile crossed Steve's lips. "And when we got there, your father and his knights all went after the griffin, but you went right for the civilians."

"He ordered me to—"

"And you always follow orders." Steve smiled a little wider. "Orders or not, I still remember how you spoke to them. Those children were scared out their minds and I'm not sure anyone else could've convinced them to move, but you did. You were calm and patient, exactly what they needed."

Tony needed a moment to clamp down the surge of longing for everything that could've been, before he admitted, "You aren't bad yourself. With Peter. I've seen—earlier, and around. You're good with him. He really…" He knew how bitter he sounded, but it was better than letting Steve hear the fear that lay underneath. "He really cares about you. When you leave again he's going to be devastated."

Steve flinched. "Not when."

"You sure about that?" Tony couldn't meet his eyes, just looked out at the water instead. "Feels like a when."

"I deserve that. I know I do. And you can say those things as often as you like, I deserve it, but I'm not going anywhere." Steve shook his head firmly. "I won't do that to you."

"You did it once." Tony gave a bitter sort of laugh. "What's so different about twice?"

"Because I've seen the consequences," Steve insisted, his mouth making that miserable sort of twist Tony had seen far too much of, lately. "I've seen the pain I caused you and I couldn't—if I'd known how much my leaving would hurt you I would never have been able to do it."

"You were my everything." It wasn't news, just old facts facing harsh new light. "And you really thought that I wouldn't, what? Miss you? That I didn't need you? Did I not tell you that enough? Did I not make it damned clear how much I—"

 _Love you_ was right there on the tip of his tongue, but he shut his mouth and clenched his jaw to hold it back. Love, loved, he wasn't sure anymore. That present tense had been about to slip probably said it all, but whether or not he meant it, he didn't  _want_ to mean it. More importantly, he didn't want to know how Steve would respond to it. If Steve no longer loved him…how was he supposed to come back from that?

"Of course you did." Steve's strained voice brought him back. He couldn't meet Steve's eyes so he watched his hands, the way they twitched at his sides. Steve was trying not to touch him again, he could tell that much. "You told me every day. More than every day, you told me every time we got a moment alone and I saw it in your eyes when we weren't; I heard it from you more than I even deserved to, it wasn't that I didn't know—"

"You just didn't care."

" _No,"_ Steve insisted, a desperate sort of frustration leaking into his voice. He lost his control briefly, reached for Tony before realizing his mistake and jerking back. "I care, Tony. Don't ever think that I don't care. I'm not saying I had it worse than you because I  _didn't_ and I know that but I—it was hard for me, too. Don't think that it wasn't. Don't think that I didn't want to come home to you every Goddamned day—"

"You want to know the difference?" Tony looked at him finally, faced the misery and the desperation all too clear in his eyes. Ten years had changed a lot, but Steve would always be an open book to him. "You had a choice. You got to sit there with all your pain and  _decide_ to stick it out.  _Decide_ to put everything we had in a box and shove it to the back of your mind—"

"I  _never—"_

" _I_ never," Tony interrupted forcefully, "Had a choice. Not once. I didn't choose if you left. I didn't choose if I could follow, though you better fucking believe I tried my best to. I ran away half a dozen times looking for you, but you eluded me every time. I didn't choose if I could read your stupid letter, didn't choose if or when you came back. Every day, you made the choice to stay away from me. I never got that. I got to wonder. I got to doubt. For ten years, I could never be sure if everything we'd ever had was just a lie, or if you'd been taken from me and I was just too weak to stop it, too  _stupid_ to even realize it—"

"Tony." Steve's voice cracked over his name. Steve had always had a knack for filling his name with a speech's worth of meanings, imbibing a hundred different things into one short word. He hadn't honestly thought there were any new ways left for Steve to say his name at this point, but there it was.

"Don't." Tony shook his head, turning back to face the lagoon. Peter was underwater again, thankfully, not that Tony had remembered about anyone else in the world for a moment there. "Just…let it go."

"I'm not sure I ever learned how to do that, with you." Steve's smile was wry, not humorous so much as wistful. "I'll find a way, Tony. I'll earn your trust back."

"How?" Tony finally looked at him. It wasn't a demand, but a plea. "How am I ever supposed to trust you again? If someone had told me then that you'd leave…I'd have laughed. I'd have laughed until my stomach ached. I couldn't even imagine the thought of it, didn't believe it when they told me, didn't believe it when the evidence stared me in the face. How am I ever supposed to return to that state of ignorance? The people we were, the way things were…it's gone. Maybe you should've just stayed gone, too."

He only had the briefest of moments to catch the devastated look in Steve's eyes before a large splash drew his attention. He froze when he saw that Peter had dropped his armful of rocks to stare at them with wide eyes. "What do you mean, he shoulda stayed gone?"

Shit.

"Nothing, he just—" Tony started.

"He's not Steve's cousin, is he?" Peter's eyes lit up. He ignored Tony's protest to wade over to them excitedly, grabbing at Steve's pant leg. "You're him, aren't you? That's why you know so much about Daddy, and the kingdom, and where this place is, because  _you're really him—"_

"No, he's just—" Tony tried again, but Steve crouched down to take Peter very seriously by the shoulders.

"Peter, I need you to listen to me, okay? You can't tell  _anyone._ Do you understand? Not anyone. Only a few people know, and that's how I'd like it to stay."

Tony loved his son with everything he was, but he didn't for one second imagine his little blabbermouth would be able to hold something like that in for more than twenty-four hours at best. At worst, he'd be running off to tell his friends within moments of returning to the castle.

"How come?" Peter was too busy all but vibrating with energy to be too put out about keeping it a secret, at least for the moment.

"I used this name to become a knight," Steve admitted, "I needed a noble seal and I don't have one."

 _He lied, essentially,_ sat on Tony's tongue, but he managed to restrain himself. It was one thing to be bitter to Steve, but he wasn't going to disparage his son's hero in front of him.

"But Joseph Grant does," Peter worked out.

"Right." Steve smiled. "And I can best protect your father if I'm a knight. You want him to stay safe, don't you?"

It rubbed the wrong way. Tony grit his teeth to keep from snapping at him all over again about how he didn't need any damned protection and to stop projecting his hero complex, but Peter spoke before he could calm down enough to say it normally.

"Does he need protecting?" Peter's expression was doubting, at the very least confused, and Tony loved him endlessly for it.

"Well." Steve blinked, clearly a little taken aback. "Of course. He's the king, it's a bit of a dangerous job."

"Yeah, but he's the strongest there is." Peter's brow scrunched together. "Have you seen him fight?"

"He refuses to fight me," Tony put in.

"And you know perfectly well why." Tony could see the little jump of muscle that meant Steve was gritting his teeth. That Tony kept insisting on wanting to go to blows was a sore spot for him, one Tony couldn't resist prodding at every chance he got.

"He's real good, though." Peter patted Steve's arm for his attention. "The very best. You'll see. Daddy can protect himself, he promised."

Tony knew where that was coming from. Peter had never been short of people to rely on, not the way the knights adored him, but he was still young enough not to be embarrassed about how attached he was to Tony in particular. Tony had certainly never been against it; if anything, it was probably his fault for encouraging it. When Peter had first come into his care, Tony had wanted desperately to feel needed. He'd lost his parents, cousins, and first love all in the space of just a few years, and here was an infant who not only wanted him but  _needed_ him, who couldn't leave or be taken away. So he'd always encouraged Peter's attachment, which made leaving for assignments that much harder. For a long time, Peter had made him swear up down and sideways every time he left that he could protect himself, that he would come home safe and sound.

"You want me to trust you?" He told Steve, "Try trusting me. Peter gets it and he's seven; how is it that you can't seem to grasp that?"

"Seven and a half of a half," Peter corrected seriously.

"Well, if a seven and half of a half year old can understand." Steve's lips twitched up just a bit at Tony, before he glanced back to Peter. "I'm going to work on that. And you're going to work on keeping my secret, right Peter?"

"Uh-huh." Peter nodded vigorously. "I sure will, Ste—I mean, Joe. Just Joe. Joe Grant. Sir Joe Grant."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. This was going to last all of ten minutes. "New plan. Sir Rhodes has brought it to my attention that we're fairly lacking in subtlety as is. I've never required noble seals from my knights anyway, not really. I look for talent, not lineage. Natasha was a spy from another country before Clint dragged her in here and insisted I accept her defection to us, all proud of himself like a hound with a prize; you might as well just give up the charade and re-announce yourself."

"Do you enjoy putting yourself in danger?" Steve asked dryly, "Is that it? Because I'm trying to trust you know how to take care of yourself, but you make it awfully hard when you tell me you go around letting circus boys shoot at your head then turn around and bring in foreign spies."

"Please, Natasha could hand us both our backsides in a flat minute, she's more valuable than our entire treasury."

"I think you're missing my point—"

"I think I'm  _ignoring_ your point for the sake of a moment's peace—"

"So, I can tell people you're back?" Peter piped up, seemingly lost by the direction the conversation had taken.

"Sure, Peter." Steve gave a bit of a sigh, glancing Tony's way. "Rhodey and Bruce already know, that much I'm sure of. As do Bucky and Sam."

"Bruce was the one who told you about Pepper, wasn't he?" Tony shook his head when Steve's guilty expression gave him his answer. "I should've known. Thor knows, I'm almost certain. Nick absolutely does, he's had the letter all these years and I'm quite sure he knows how to read."

"He had—?" Steve startled.

"My father did at first, Nick came into possession of it after he passed."

"So you've—?"

Tony shook his head, cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'll get to it."

Steve's expression softened. "Tony—"

"I said I'll get to it." He pursed his lips, decidedly cutting off any further talk on the subject. "Rhodey's certainly told Happy, if Happy hasn't deduced it on his own. Phil knows everything, so I'm sure he's aware, and Natasha's kicked me under the banquet table too many times for her not to know as well. If she knows, Clint knows, which means I'm not certain there's anyone left to tell, frankly."

"Aw, but then who can  _I_  tell?" Peter looked dejected.

"I'm sure Gwendolyn would love to hear all about the lost hero's return." Tony shot him a teasing smile. Peter blushed to the tips of his ears.

"Would you look at that, he's got your blush." Steve forgot himself long enough to shoot Tony a grin.

"I'm not blushing!" Peter insisted at the same moment Tony informed Steve, "I don't blush."

Steve just smiled wider. "Like father like son."

For the record, Tony was not the one to splash Steve. He was a king, he had composure and dignity and absolutely did not resort to splashing people when they teased him. Peter was the one who splashed Steve, as young, impulsive children, even princes, were prone to do.

Tony was the one who pushed him into the water.

And for a moment, right as Steve rose back up out of the water, shaking his soaked hair and slicking it back out of his face to gape up at Tony with stunned, pleased surprise, Tony could almost see it. Maybe it was the place, how the all the sun and water seemed to make Steve's eyes brighter and his smile easier, more boyish. Maybe it was having Peter there, seeing how good Steve was with him and how much Peter already adored him. Maybe there was nothing to it but Steve himself and Tony's eternal damned weakness for him, drawn in like the moth that loved the burn of the flame, making excuses all the way about warmth and light. He didn't know. He just knew that for a moment, Steve beamed up at him and he was sixteen all over again, anxious and terrified and completely out of line, but unable to resist the flare of hope that smile always gave him.

He remembered how it'd given him the courage all those years ago to grab Steve by the shirtfront and drag him in, more headbutting than kissing him, really, the angle had been so wrong and he'd put more force into it than passion and his skill had been limited to a couple pecks on the cheek, but it'd still been worth it. Everything between them had always been so worth it. He would never want to go through it again, but he'd take the decade of torture if it meant he got the eighteen years he'd been blessed with, every time. And he'd been trying so hard to be satisfied with that, to accept what he'd been granted and not give in to fantasies, not succumb to the thought that just because Steve was back meant there was any chance at the future he'd once been so sure of, but.

For just a moment, as Steve smiled and Peter laughed and they reached together to drag him in with them, Tony couldn't help the flicker of hope.


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh." Clint just blinked at him. "Was that supposed to be a secret?"

Tony sighed. To be fair, that was about what he'd expected.

They'd returned from the lagoon sopping wet and hauling a large bag of geodes—well, Tony had hauled, Peter had raced ahead without a care—and after cleaning up and changing into fresh clothes, Peter had raced around the castle to tell everyone he could find that the "lost hero" had returned after all. Tony and Steve had followed after him, offering clarification as necessary. They weren't giving much detail, just answering people's questions with the bare minimum; he'd left for personal reasons, yes he was here to stay, yes he was still a knight.

The other knights didn't return until late in the evening, long after Peter was in bed. Luckily, Tony and Steve's absence hadn't been much missed; the knights had apparently searched high and low, but found no signs of trolls. Not only were they no longer present at the border, but there'd been no footprints, no broken branches or trampled grass, nothing to show there had been trolls present at all. It was strange and discussed at length, but nothing they could do much about. Before drawing the meeting to a close, Tony had made a point to inform them that Sir Joseph Grant was henceforth to be referred to as Sir Steven Rogers. He could admit, he hadn't been expecting any particular shock, but Clint's words still hit a nerve.

"It was something unaddressed," Tony allowed, "And now it has been."

"Will this be announced to the public as well, or will this remain strictly within the knights?" Happy asked.

"Various people within the castle have already been informed," Tony clarified, "There won't be any official announcement, but it's no secret and he's to be addressed henceforth as Sir Rogers. Word will get around quickly enough on its own. Are there any other questions?"

No one asked any further questions, but Tony could see them all fidgeting, clearly waiting for someone to voice…something.

"Well?" Tony sighed. "What is it?"

"I nominate Clint." Happy glanced around the room.

"Seconded," Phil put in. Clint glared at the others when they began nodding along, but Tony just waved an impatient hand.

"Speak."

Clint squirmed a bit, glanced at Steve. "You can't blame us for wanting to know. Your disappearance was the mystery of the century, aren't you going to at least tell us why you left?"

"My reasons were personal." Steve repeated the same line he had all day. "And misguided, regardless. What's important is that I'm here and that I'm staying."

"At least until he finds himself 'misguided' again, anyway." The words were plucked right from Tony's bitter thoughts, but to everyone's surprise it was Rhodey who'd actually gone and said it.

"Think what you will." The muscle in Steve's jaw ticked; he was frustrated. "You have every reason to doubt me, I understand that. But you'll see in time that I mean every word."

"Let's hope that you do." For all that his words were harmless enough, Rhodey's tone made it perfectly clear that he was doing nothing short of threatening Steve to his face in a room full of knights. It was a bold move and Rhodey all over.

"Maybe take it down a notch there." Bucky eyed him. "He said he meant well. Give him half a chance and he'll prove it."

"Give me half a reason to," Rhodey countered.

"That's enough, Rhodey," Tony warned.

"My point." Rhodey glanced once more at Steve, assessing this time, before returning his gaze to Tony. "Is that we're supposed to trust him implicitly. That's the entire point of the knights' circle, but the last time he was needed he vanished without a trace. It's not a record that speaks highly of him."

"I wouldn't call it a  _record,_ it only happened once and there were extenuating—" Sam began to defend Steve and Bucky looked just as ready to jump in, but Tony was tired of not being listened to.

"I said enough!" he commanded, "This isn't up for debate. Rogers is and will continue to be a knight, end of story."

"Do _you_  trust him?" Natasha had been a silent observer up to that point, but Tony was entirely unsurprised her comment was the one to drive right to the heart of the problem. She'd always had a knack for that.

Tony looked to Steve. "To guard and serve the kingdom to the best of his ability? Without question."

Hurt flickered over Steve's face. He seemed to try and reign it in, but it was clear enough he'd heard what Tony didn't say: that he trusted Steve not to endanger him, but not with anything else.

"Then the rest is personal and not of my concern." Natasha glanced around the room, clearly implying to the others they ought to follow her example. "If that's all?"

Her restraint in leaving his personal life alone would be more impressive if Tony didn't know full well she was going to back him into a corner and pry the details out of him later. He just nodded.

"That'll be all."

She offered him a small smile as she passed, taking her leave. The others followed with varying degrees of reluctance. They were clearly unsatisfied with the lack of answers, but knew better than to press the subject. Rhodey shot him a look as he left, indicating they'd be talking about this later. Tony had expected nothing less. Once they'd vacated, Steve moved forward, started to say something. Tony took two steps back and Steve closed his mouth.

"I'm glad the air is clear," Tony said after a beat of silence, "It's a step towards moving past all this."

Steve nodded mutely. He dropped his gaze to the floor, took a breath. He was gathering the courage to say something, Tony knew, could recognize the signs.

"Earlier," Steve said eventually, "Before Peter overheard—"

_Maybe you should've just stayed gone._

"I don't know," Tony interrupted tersely.

"You didn't let me—"

"Finish?" Tony cut him off again, offered a rueful, bitter smile. "You really think I need to, by now? You want to know if I meant it, and I don't know. What do you want me to say? You left. And yes, I hated it. Every minute, I fucking  _hated_ it. But I got used to it. I hated it and I wished things were different, but I got by and I got better. I have Peter, and I have Rhodey and Happy and the knights and I'm getting better. I was, anyway."

"I'm sorry," Steve's voice was whisper-quiet as his expression went shuttered, and he shook his head, "And it's not enough, I know it isn't, but it's all I have. I want you to be happy, Tony. That's all I've ever wanted. If things are easier for you with me gone…"

Steve didn't have to elaborate what he was offering; Tony could hear every self-doubting, self-loathing thought running through Steve's head likely as easily as Steve himself could. It still made him furious.

"If you want to leave, fucking leave," Tony spat.

"I don't want to." Steve insisted immediately, stepping forward again, "I  _don't_ and I never will, I just—I want to make this easier for you, Tony, however I can. If you were happier with me gone—"

"Oh yes, I was a real peach about it, haven't you heard?" Tony jerked away from him. "Christ, Steve. Why is everything extremes, with you? You were gone for  _ten fucking years,_ forgive me if I didn't spend every moment sobbing my eyes out. I had good moments. Good days, good months, good _years_ ; I have my friends and my knights and a son I love with all my heart, you better believe the time I've had with him makes me happy as hell. I can be happy and still miss you like a body part, I can be confused and frustrated and still be damn glad you're alive and standing here in front of me. If I haven't been clear enough about the fact that you being  _alive_ and  _here_ means the fucking world to me, well, it's because every time I see your face I wait for it to fade away."

"Tony." Steve's expression crumpled, and god, he said his name just like he always used to when they were alone, like Tony was the only important thing in his world. "I swear to you—"

"You're not going anywhere, you've said, but that's not—" Tony waved a hand and took a step back, because Steve was gravitating closer again and that wasn't—he couldn't handle that too. He could talk about his stupid damn  _emotions_ or he could be a little closer to Steve, but he certainly couldn't do both. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant…I meant I used to dream about this sort of thing, you know? Ten years, you think I didn't imagine every possible way you could come home to me? I spent ten years waking up and reaching for someone who wasn't there, waking up and realizing it wasn't real and you were still gone and I don't  _trust_ myself with this, anymore. I keep looking at you and waiting to—to wake up, to blink and have you disappear—"

"I'm here," Steve interrupted softly, stepping forward again slowly to take Tony by the shoulders, "I'm here and I'm real and I'm never leaving you, Tony. Not again. I promise."

Steve had always had large hands. For all that he'd grown, his touch felt just the same, painfully familiar and impossible not to give in to. Tony drifted forward, just the slightest bit, but that was all it took for Steve to drop his hands from Tony's shoulders to around him, wrapping him up in his arms and embracing him tightly. Tony tucked his head under Steve's chin, his ear to Steve's chest—his heart was racing too, at least Tony wasn't alone—and just completely crumpled against him. Steve didn't so much as sway with his weight, supported him easily and firmly and that was…different. Steve had held him back then a thousand times, but he'd been smaller, shorter and skinnier with much less bulk to him. He couldn't have engulfed Tony then the way he was now, but he was just as warm and gentle as Tony remembered and for all the differences, it was still absolutely perfect.

Tony wasn't certain he'd have ever let go if someone hadn't knocked on the door. Phil entered a split second after they separated and for a moment Tony worried he might have seen—he was under no delusions, he knew everyone was aware enough of the complex nature of their relationship, but he had no desire to field any questions about it—then he caught sight of Phil's expression and his worries evaporated. Phil looked more unnerved than Tony had seen him in years. He sobered fast, any remaining sentimentality evaporating.

"What's happened?"

"Dragons," Phil told him breathlessly. Which was a surprise, of course, but they'd dealt with them before and there was no need for such panic— "Three of them, half a mile from the town square—"

That was all Tony needed to hear. Good god, dragons this close to civilians _—_

"Suit up," he instructed Steve and Phil, leaving with haste to retrieve his armor as well, "Find and tell the others, we need to move  _now_."

* * *

They stayed out in search of the threat into the early, pre-dawn hours, but found nothing.

Everyone they spoke to had seen the flying beasts tearing through the skies, bellowing fire and screeching loud enough to wake the dead, but no one could attest to them landing. There were no signs of burnt buildings, no livestock eaten, no women stolen from their homes. The incident had the same mysterious qualities as the disappearance of the trolls; a coincidence or a yet-determined pattern, Tony couldn't be sure. It made him anxious nonetheless.

"We've given this time enough," Bucky argued, "There aren't any damn dragons, I'm telling you—"

"We can't just give up." Clint twisted around on his horse to make a face at Bucky.

"I'm not  _saying_  we give up," Bucky insisted, "I'm saying we've been searching for hours and there clearly isn't any threat. We could at least make camp for the night, continue searching in the morning."

"He might have the right idea," Thor acknowledged. Sif and the warriors three had stayed behind as Jane's personal guard, but Thor was experienced with dragons and had elected to come with them to offer assistance. "Unless Midgardians know tricks we do not, there isn't much to be seen in this darkness."

"We've given it hours without a single sign of presence." Tony pulled his horse to a stop, turning to address the group, "For whatever reason, it seems they were only circling and I don't like the sound of that much more than I liked the sound of them in our square. We'll camp here. If nothing else, we'll be prepared when they return. We'll do a three-man watch, I want no surprises."

"Thank god." Sam slid off his horse immediately. "Two hours sleep, that's all I ask."

"I can take a first shift," Phil offered as they all began to follow Sam's lead and dismount from their horses.

"Same here." Happy nodded. "I got plenty of sleep last night."

"I wouldn't sleep well with the thought of dragons flying over my head, anyway," Rhodey agreed, "I'll start as well."

What remained of the night passed in peace; no dragons were so much as heard, much less seen. Tony still felt wary about it all, but come morning there was nothing to do but return to the castle. They certainly weren't leisurely, but they didn't concern themselves with making any haste until they were close enough to spot the smoke in the distance. It couldn't be the castle for sure, they were too far out, but it was in the right direction and something in Tony's gut told him they'd been duped.

He alerted the others and they doubled their speed, Tony's mind racing all the while. The supposed trolls had likely been a distraction as well, intended to draw them out. But why not attack the castle the first time? He hadn't been on the mission, but he hadn't been in any position to defend the castle, either. Everyone who'd been gone this time had been gone the first time, if perhaps to a different place. So why attack now, if not then? The castle wasn't any less protected now than it had been.

Not to mention, what purpose could this serve? Tony suspected Loki's involvement, of course—the trolls and dragons had likely been illusions, something Loki had always enjoyed dabbling in—but wasn't it Thor that Loki sought to hurt? He could go after Jane now, but the soldiers in Tony's guard were very capable, not to mention numerous, and even the threat of dragons wouldn't be enough to keep the knights away long without proof of their presence or reason to stay and fight. On top of the castle's defenses and the guard, Sif and the warriors three were assigned to be watching Jane specifically, and Tony knew from experience that their talents were on par with his own. Loki couldn't really think he had any chance at fighting his way through to Jane now, did he?

And it would indeed need to be a physical battle; there were wards in the castle to defend against the kind of magic Loki and others like him used. He would be unable to sneak in invisibly, or appear as someone he wasn't. Perhaps he'd been unaware of that, the first time? Thus the second attempt? Tony couldn't be sure. No, he must've known, he'd been greatly irritated by them at his last visit.

"Thor," Tony called over his shoulder, "You wouldn't happen to have any insight here?"

"Misdirection was always my brother's favored ploy." Thor's expression was stormy. His rage was well known and well feared; Tony felt absently thankful he was on their side. "I have no doubts he is behind this. What I doubt is that he was able to gather enough of an army in such a short time to think besieging your castle a wise move. It is with much respect that I say your defenses are widely known to be resilient as iron, something he surely knows. I worry things are not as simple as they appear."

"The smoke could be an illusion too," Natasha reasoned.

"Aye." Thor nodded, then shook his head with a frustrated huff. "Or not. My brother is…not as I knew him, as of late. He jumps to many conclusions I cannot understand, attacking your castle now might be another. I know not."

"We can't not go back," Rhodey insisted, "Maybe it's an illusion, but if it's not those are our friends and I'm sure as hell not leaving them to burn."

"It could be a trap," Clint warned, "I'm not saying we shouldn't go back, but we might want to think it through before we go charging off exactly as Loki expects us to."

"You're saying what?" Phil considered, "That we take a different route?"

"But that'll take longer," Bucky argued, "And people could be in danger now."

"We're knights." Steve agreed. "If it's a trap, we can handle that bridge when we come to it."

"If it  _is_ a trap…" Happy pointed out thoughtfully, "Why didn't he pull whatever he was planning the first time? If he wanted all of us gone, he could've just as easily taken us out then and Tony and Steve later. It'd probably have even been easier."

"He's likely after Anthony specifically," Thor put in gravely, "You have the most power to stop him from achieving what he wants, and a kingdom without a leader is a kingdom at its weakest."

"And out here he can use all the magic he wants," Tony scowled. "Great. Have I mentioned how much I—"

"Hate magic with all of your heart and soul," Rhodey intoned as the others laughed, "Yes. You have."

"Laugh it up." Tony rolled his eyes at them. "You won't be laughing when I'm dead from whatever head-exploding, gut-shriveling curse Loki flings my way."

"You're going to outlive us all through sheer force of will." Natasha snorted.

"When I go out in the blaze of glory I demand to, I fully expect you in tears and reading a ten-page apology to my lifeless body," Tony shot back.

"Hm." Natasha appeared to consider it. "Depends on how you go. If it's your own bullheadedness that takes you down, all you're getting is an 'I told you so'."

"If I didn't know you better, Romanoff, I'd be offended."

"You seem fairly offended," Bucky pointed out.

"Well,  _you_  seem—"

"Tony!"

Even as he heard his name, Tony was being shoved off his horse and to the side. There was a moment of disgruntled confusion before the person who'd shoved him followed, tumbling over both their and Tony's horse to land with a heavy thud on top of him on the ground.

"Christ." Tony gasped for air, because  _Christ,_ the ground was hard and whoever had slammed into him was heavy. Tony glanced up to read them—Steve, of course, it was always fucking Steve—the riot act, when he saw the cut on his neck. "You idiot, that could've gone through your throat. What in the hell were you thinking?"

He caught sight of the arrow a foot away, and the others must've as well since they immediately moved to action. They drew their swords and shields, circling around Tony in defense, but no further arrows came.

"Woulda gone through you," Steve told him firmly, but the slur in his voice was concerning.

"Steve?" Tony hedged. Steve slumped forward. Tony patted his face, then shoved at shoulder, but Steve had gone boneless. "Is this supposed to be funny? Look sharp, Rogers, it's just a nick. You're alright."

Tony tried to hoist Steve off him, but a boneless Steve was much heavier than expected. It really was only a nick—it'd already stopped bleeding—so what the hell was going on? Tony managed to roll Steve off him and onto his back, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was slowing in a way that immediately screamed poison. Tony's blood ran cold.

"Fetch the arrow, it was laced!" Tony ordered to whoever decided to listen, giving Steve's shoulders a hard shake and slapping at his cheek. "Wake up, you bastard, this isn't funny."

"I'm fine…" Steve tried, his eyes opening again briefly, but contradicted himself with a groan of pain.

Tony shifted him, tried to hoist him upwards. Elevate the head, right? Wasn't that supposed to help? He thought he could remember hearing that somewhere, but couldn't remember for certain. He knew nothing about healing, had never paid attention in lessons and always relied on Bruce for treatments. Poison, poison, what the hell did one do about poison? He pressed a hand to Steve's forehead. It was already burning to the touch. He tried to haul Steve up, so they could get him on a horse and back to the castle, back to Bruce, but Steve clutched at Tony's arm tight enough Tony winced. Bucky and Sam dismounted to assist him, Bucky going to Steve's other side and Sam pulling Steve's horse closer so they could put him over it. Most of the others stayed in formation, huddling around them for protection from further attacks. Clint had pinpointed the direction from which the arrow had come and was long gone in that direction, Phil and Natasha with him.

"Damned idiot," Bucky bitched as he helped hoist Steve up.

" _Damned_ idiot," Tony agreed resoundingly, "I would've seen it, I'd have been fine, but you always have to  _do_ this, don't you, play the fucking hero since you can't trust me to handle myself for ten damn seconds—"

"I am—ah—trusting you." Steve gripped his arm tighter and Tony let him, didn't say a word despite being fairly sure he'd have bruises later. "I am, Tony, I am, I'm trusting you to get me outta my own head and bring me back, okay? I—if this does what I think it does—I'm not gonna want to come back, but you can do it. You can bring me back, cause I'm always gonna come back for you, always—"

"Don't even start with that," Tony snapped, fear driving him more than any sense of irritation, "You're going to be fine, I'm not letting you off that easy."

"Hey, you're too stubborn for death, remember?" Bucky shook Steve's shoulder, "Didn't suit you, right? Come on, buddy, keep those eyes open."

Steve's consciousness waned; Tony and Bucky's combined efforts were barely enough to keep him up. Panic constricted Tony's lungs.

"Don't you dare fucking faint on me, you bastard—"

"Anthony," Steve mumbled at the sound of his voice, eyes flickering open briefly, but it was without intent.

"I'm right here, just look at me, alright?" When Steve didn't respond, Tony insisted,  _"Please,_ Steve, c'mon, you love hearing the please, right? I'm asking, Steve, I'm asking, come on, please, stay with me—"

Steve turned at the sound of his voice, but he couldn't quite manage to keep his eyes open. After a moment his head lolled back, and he didn't open his eyes again.

"Shit," Bucky muttered, shaking Steve harder and voicing Tony's internal panicked monologue, "Shit, fuck, fucking shit—"

"Get him up." Sam was calmer than the both of them, thank god, and pushed them both forward so the three of them could lift Steve up onto the horse. Tony took half a second to close his eyes and take a deep breath, then quickly returned to his own horse and pulled himself up.

"Let's move," he ordered. The knights fell into line behind him, no further debate about their destination.


	9. Chapter 9

" _C'mere!"_

_Steve ducked just out of Tony's reach, laughing before diving back under the water. It was nice today, just warm enough for the cool water to feel a bit like a dream, with enough of a breeze to help them to dry off later. At the moment, though, he was hardly admiring the weather._

" _What? His royal highness can't catch lil old me?" Steve taunted when he surfaced again, shooting a proud grin Tony's direction._

" _It's not my fault you swim like a fish," Tony grumbled good-naturedly, with all the grouchiness a ten-year-old could muster, "It's cause you're all bony, they think you're one of them, a merboy or somethin'."_

" _You're just jealous." Steve stuck his tongue out._

" _Of what? You?" Tony lifted his chin. "Not a chance."_

" _How d'you think I'd look?" Steve pondered, "As a merboy, and all?"_

" _Dunno." Tony's nose wrinkled up as he thought about it. "Bet you'd smell gross though."_

" _What d'you care what I smell like?" Steve made a face._

" _I don't care at all, dummy." Tony waded closer, shoved him a little. "But what, you wanna smell like fish all the time?"_

" _If it meant I could be a merboy, that'd be a pretty good trade, I guess," Steve reasoned._

" _You already swim like one, what d'you need to be a merboy for?" Tony scoffed._

" _I dunno. The tail?" Steve grinned. "Wouldn't I look cool with a tail?"_

" _You'd look dumb, like always." Tony shoved him into the water and started stomping off._

" _Hey!" Steve yelped when he surfaced. "What was that for? And where are you going?"_

" _Go play with your fish friends if you wanna be a merboy so bad," Tony informed him, "What d'you need me for?"_

" _Well, I don't wanna be a merboy if you aren't one too," Steve told him, because how was that even an option? "Duh."_

_Tony paused in his show of stomping off. The back of his neck went a little red; he was embarrassed now. Steve grinned._

" _Besides, fish would make stupid friends."  
_

" _Shut up," Tony mumbled._

" _I'm serious! Fish don't do nothin'. They don't go on adventures, they don't know how to swordfight—"_

" _Neither do you." Tony snorted at him._

" _I'm learnin'." Steve made a face at him._

" _Learnin' slow." The smile was starting to return to Tony's face._

" _And what'm I supposed to talk to a fish about, huh?" Steve waded over to where Tony was. "How to swim? I know how to swim. Better than you, anyway."_

_He shoved Tony in. Tony gave a sputter of surprise before his arms pinwheeled and he hit the water with a splash. His head popped up a minute later, and he spit water at Steve's face._

" _Gross!" Steve complained, "That was in your_ mouth,  _Tony!"_

" _So what?" Tony taunted, "Scared you're gonna catch my cooties?"_

" _No," Steve insisted mulishly, even as he wiped his face off, because he was ten now and ten year olds weren't afraid of cooties, that was stupid, he just had water in his eyes._

" _You are!" Tony grinned wickedly._

" _Am not!"_

" _Are too!"_

" _Am not!"_

_Tony grabbed Steve's arm and blew a slobbery raspberry onto it. Steve yanked his arm away quick as he could and shoved Tony back into the water. He wiped Tony's spit off, while Tony resurfaced with a laugh._

" _You_ are  _afraid of my cooties!"_

_Steve scowled at him, but he just laughed harder. So Steve bent down to suck up some of the lagoon water and spit it out hard as he could in Tony's face. Tony shrieked his name louder than a banshee._

" _Who's afraid of cooties now?" Steve stuck his tongue out at him._

" _You used more water than I did!" Tony complained._

" _You spit on my arm!"_

_Tony tackled him first, but Steve had been raring to do so anyway, and they both hit the water with plenty of fight. By they time they had finished wrestling and catching their breath, they had both forgotten what they were play-fighting about in the first place. It wasn't until later, while they were lying out on one of the rocks to sun-dry themselves, that Tony leaned up on his elbow and glanced over at him._

" _Hey, Steve?"_

" _Huh?" Steve had his eyes closed, half-asleep in the warm sun._

" _D'you really think I got cooties?"_

" _Nah. You're a boy."_

_Tony, finding this answer acceptable, laid back down and closed his eyes. Another minute's silence passed, then, "If I was a girl, would you think I had cooties?"_

_Steve considered that a moment, then shrugged. "Prob'ly."_

" _Gross."_

_A thought occurred to Steve. He glanced over. "Hey, Tony?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _If_ I _was a girl, would you still wanna be friends?"_

" _Duh."_

_"Even though I'd have cooties?"_

" _Steve, you could have the black plague and I'd still be your friend. I wouldn't touch you or nothin', but I'd visit you tons and read you stuff and make my dad find a way to fix you for sure." Tony paused a moment, thinking. "Plus, I don't think Pepper has cooties. Maybe some girls don't. I bet if you were a girl, you'd be the kind that doesn't have 'em."_

" _You too, Tony." Steve grinned to himself and closed his eyes again. Yeah. Him and Tony not friends? What a dumb thought._

* * *

They returned to a castle with no fire or breached defenses, nothing more than a bunch of guards and staff confused about the strange smoke that seemed to stem from nowhere at all. They took Steve straight through to Bruce's quarters, where Tony demanded—he wished he could say he'd asked, but it would be a ridiculous lie—that Bruce diagnose and cure Steve posthaste. Rhodey and Happy stood guard at the door, while Thor had left immediately upon arrival to check on Jane. Most of the others were still in the woods hunting down their attacker, but Tony crowded up by Steve's bedside, he and Bucky and Sam all crouched uncomfortably and all unwilling to move so much as an inch. It hadn't taken Bruce long to come to a conclusion.

"It's dreamshade." Bruce sighed. "How long ago did he have contact with the arrow?"

"Half a day?" Tony guessed, mind reeling. Steve's comment about bringing him out of his head; that made sense. He would've put it together sooner if he hadn't been half out of his mind with worry, he supposed. "Maybe more, it took us far too long to come back—"

"Fuck," Sam swore.

"He'll be fine," Tony snapped at Sam, then turned back to Bruce and insisted firmly, "He will. Right?"

The silence was horrifying.

"Tony," Bruce said quietly, "We ought to speak alone for a moment."

"What the hell for? Just do whatever it is you need to do, put me in his head and I'll bring him back—"

"Tony—"

"I don't want excuses, just do it!"

" _Tony."_ Tony wasn't sure when Rhodey had moved to his side, but he was there now, gripping Tony's shoulder tightly in warning. If it'd been anyone but Rhodey, Tony would've slapped their hand away or shouted some more but as it was, Rhodey's tempered tone was enough to steady him temporarily. "We'll leave. Talk to Bruce for a moment."

"We don't  _have_ a moment," Tony insisted, but the others began to file out regardless. Bucky and Sam were particularly reluctant, so Tony nodded at them. "Stay. He'd want you to."

"Tony…" Bruce hesitated, glancing at the others then offering them a nod of acknowledgement as well. "The problem with dreamshade is that it's very fast-acting. Steps can be taken before the poison reaches the heart, but that only takes a couple hours. Half a day…there isn't much to be done."

"If there isn't 'much', then what's the much?" Bucky maintained, "What can we do?"

"Bruce can send me into his head," Tony turned, "Right? Pull him out of his memories? Steve thought I could do it, he's waiting for me to bring him back. You brought me back, why the hell can't I—"

"They brought you to me before the four hour mark." Bruce shook his head with a grimace. "This…half a day? Tony, if I send you in—"

"So you can," Sam insisted.

"Theoretically," Bruce hedged, "But I'm not going to, because—"

"You most  _certainly_  are," Tony told him immediately.

"Listen to me," Bruce insisted firmly, "Magic has very specific rules—"

"Magic is hand-wavy bullshit!" Bucky snapped, "Just wave your hands and send Tony in there, or send  _me_  in there, or do whatever it is you've got to do!"

"As much as I appreciate your deep respect for what I do…" Bruce narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "I need the three of you to hear me: you  _cannot_ bring him back at this point."

Bucky scoffed disbelievingly. Sam turned to face the wall. Tony sat down and tried to remember how to breathe.

"And I'm sorry about that." Bruce stepped forward to lay a hand on Tony's shoulder, the only person in the room he actually knew. "I am, I truly am. He was a good man and I sympathize with you, I swear that I do, but if I were even  _able_ to send you in, you would only get trapped in there with him. The poison has certainly reached his heart by this point, you go in and it'll just latch onto you too."

"Is there any other sort of…" Sam waved a hand, not dismissive so much as unsure. "Spell? Potion? Herb?"

"We'll hunt down whatever you need, there's got to be something," Bucky agreed quickly, his borderline hysterical laugh underlining the fact that the news had clearly not settled yet with him, "He's too bullheaded to just—what,  _die?_ Stevie's not gonna go out that easy, that's fucking ridiculous."

Tony put his head in his hands. Bruce was too intelligent and he knew far too much about how Tony felt to think there was anything in the world Tony wouldn't find or retrieve or give to bring Steve back. If he wasn't mentioning alternatives, there  _weren't_ alternatives. Bucky was still talking and Sam was still pacing but Tony couldn't hear a damn thing over the blood rushing in his ears. Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck,_ fucking fuck, this wasn't happening, couldn't be happening—Steve had come back for him, had been out there for him, had taken that stupid fucking arrow for him—this was his fault, this was all his fucking fault, he  _knew_ Steve had a damn martyrdom complex, he should've kept him three yards away at all times to prevent this exact situation but he couldn't—he hadn't predicted—he was  _stupid,_ so fucking stupid! He'd only just gotten Steve back and now he might—he was going to—and Steve had  _asked_ Tony to bring him back, that was all he'd fucking asked for and Tony couldn't manage it because he was a failure, he was a worthless fucking failure, just sitting here on his ass while Steve  _died—_

"Just do it." Tony stood abruptly, interrupting Bucky's insistent rant about some herb he'd heard of years ago from a friend's mother's cousin or who knew what.

"Yeah, okay." Bucky nodded immediately. "I can go now, be back in—"

"That's some bullshit rumor and we all know it." Tony shook his head, meeting Bruce's eyes. "Do it, Bruce."

"Tony, listen to me, it  _will not work,_ it'll drag you under and—"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you think you're going to talk me out of this," Tony demanded. When Bruce was unable to, he continued, "Then send me the fuck in there already, because now we're just wasting time."

Bruce uncrossed and then recrossed his arms, fidgety now. "I'm not certain I even could."

"Try," Tony ordered, nothing short of a king's command and they all knew it.

Frustration and concern warred in Bruce's expression. "This is...insane. Insane and ill-advised and the absolute  _stupidest_ thing you have ever tried to do and you have a laundry list of very  _stupid_ things to your name—"

"He made a stupid, pointlessly martyring decision on my behalf once—"

"And you're going to what, throw your life away returning the favor?"

"I'm not throwing anything away! I'm bringing him back, that's all, nobody's dying here! Damn it, Bruce—"

"He would never want you to do this," Sam put in quietly. That stopped Tony short, but only for a moment.

"No," he admitted honestly, "He wouldn't. But you know damn well that he'd do the exact same thing for me no matter how the fuck I felt about it."

"Christ," Bucky hissed, rubbing both hands over his face as he turned away, "You are both so  _fucking stupid."_

"Well established." Tony didn't so much as spare him a glance. "Bruce?"

"I hate this," Bruce maintained, but he was already moving away to where he kept his potions, "I really, really hate this."

"Really? I'm having a grand time," Tony snapped, gaze drifting back to Steve's unconscious form.

God, he looked awful. He'd gone from feverish with labored breathing to eerily still and pale as marble; Tony preferred the fever, if only because this looked too close to something Tony didn't even want to think about. He closed his hand around Steve's wrist, felt for something to reassure himself with. The beat of his pulse was present, but disturbingly slow. Tony tore his gaze away when Bruce returned with a small blue vial.

"Drink it and touch his forehead," Bruce instructed, then seemed to reconsider, "Or his heart? If the poison's there already…"

"Fuckin' magic," Bucky muttered under his breath, "Hand-wavy  _bullshit—"_

Sam snagged Bucky's arm. He must've dug in his nails, because Bucky winced and shut up. Bruce was ignoring them anyway, thinking it over.

"Heart," he decided at last, "Hand over his heart. And once he's aware that it's all a dream, he'll be able to wake up on his own anytime he likes. If he wakes up, so will you."

Tony reached for the vial. Bruce, reluctant but resigned, relinquished it. Tony glanced at the trio of them, watching him, watching Steve.

"Give me a moment," Tony asked of them, "You can come back after a moment, I just…I'd like…if this  _is_  it…"

"Don't talk like that," Bucky gave his shoulder a half-hearted shove, worry in his eyes behind the posturing, "You're gonna jinx the damn thing. It's gonna go fine, you're gonna bring him back and you're gonna get over your terminal cases of stupid and make me an uncle, right?"

"Right." Tony offered him a thin smile.

"You can bring him back." Sam assured with a confidence that, for all Tony had plenty of stubborn determination, Tony envied. "He'd come back from the grave itself if he thought you wanted him to."

Sam followed Bucky out the door. Bruce watched Tony another moment, still wary and at war with himself, before disappearing silently out after them. Tony felt the weight of Bruce's disapproval, but there was nothing to be done about it. He could live without Steve—this past decade had proven he could even be very happy, which was more than his eighteen-year-old self could've imagined—but he damn well didn't want to. If he had a chance in hell of saving Steve, he was going to try; that had never even been a question. Steve would do it for him, after all.

"I won't let you slip away from me again, beloved," Tony murmured, his voice too quiet, too fragile in the empty room as he moved closer to Steve's side. It'd been so long since he'd called Steve that, but the word still rolled off his tongue as easily as if he'd last said it just yesterday.

He slid onto the cot with Steve, pulled the man's head into his lap. Funny to think of him as such, as a grown man instead of the boy he'd loved. Tony's throat closed tight as he ghosted a hand over Steve's still wispy blond hair. Though Steve had grown much larger, taller and wider and everything else, there was something still so deeply, intimately familiar about being like this again. Steve's head in his lap, Tony's hand in his hair, his eyes closed as if he were only resting them a moment. Like he'd open them any second now, bright and blue and adoring, and smile up at Tony like they didn't have a care in the world. Tony bent to kiss his forehead, lingering enough that he could settle the emotions threatening to claw their way out of his chest, then popped the cork of the bottle.

"Cheers to stupid decisions, huh?" He raised it in toast, pressed one hand over Steve's heart, then downed the bitter liquid in one shot.

* * *

" _C'mere."_

_Tony's hand was warm on the back of his neck as he pulled him in. Steve opened to him easily, pressing forward and fisting his hands in Tony's shirt. He pushed Tony back, gentle but firm, and Tony fell onto the bed with a surprised but pleased laugh. He then sat up enough to crook a finger into the hem of Steve's pants, tug him forward as well. For the moment, Tony was shorter than him, had to tilt his head up in invitation for a kiss instead of the other way around. Steve couldn't have resisted if he'd wanted to. He bent to cover Tony's mouth with his again, taste the smile on his lips; Tony caught him by surprise, looped an arm around his neck and yanked him into bed with him._

_Steve laughed but didn't quite break the kiss, a strange sound made stranger by Tony doing the same. He couldn't help it. He was giddy. Tony made him giddy, made him flustered and comfortable all at once, calmed him down even as he riled him up. Steve had kept this all to himself for months now—wonderful, amazing months—but being with Tony was better than any drug and never failed to feel new and exciting. His kisses were like shots of pure magic right to his veins, warm and euphoric to the point Steve felt his heart might burst with it. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything in the world when Tony looked at him like this, touched him like this; time didn't slow, it stopped existing altogether._

" _Steve," Tony panted. He wasn't trying to say anything, Steve could tell, he just liked saying Steve's name when the friction between them was maddening._

_Tony tugged at his shirt and Steve didn't pause, just lifted his arms up and parted long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside before kissing Tony again, harder this time. He ran his hands down Tony's neck, over his shoulders, then grabbed Tony's shirt and shoved it up with a needy noise, kissing away from Tony's mouth down to his chest. With anyone else, the noise might've been embarrassing; here, with Tony, it didn't even register to him. How could it? What could he ever have to be embarrassed about with Tony?_

_He was proven right when Tony made a rather needy noise of his own, shrugging out of his shirt and threading a hand in Steve's hair, pulling gently for him to come back up. Steve declined cheekily, jerking his head back. Tony whined, but Steve only hummed and pressed kisses along Tony's torso._

" _Tease," Tony muttered, but there was such fondness in his voice he failed to sound like he disapproved at all._

" _You love it." Steve pressed an open kiss to Tony's hip. He gave a little nip, pleased with Tony's sharp inhale and the stutter of his hips._

" _I love you," Tony corrected._

" _And I you, my prince." Steve moved back up, running his tongue lightly over one of Tony's nipples before giving a teasing bite, just enough pressure to get Tony squirming._

" _Mm, ah." Tony did just that, making a wonderful noise somewhere between a hum and a moan as he did. "God, the things you do to me—ah!"_

" _What do I do to you, my prince?" Steve released him, glancing up with his most innocent smile._

" _You know precisely what you do." Tony dropped his head back with a gusty, pleased sigh. "I've got that tourney tomorrow, everyone's going to call me 'prince' at least a hundred times and I'm going to have to hide the tent in my drawers."_

" _Anything to get you to think of me," Steve teased, dipping his head to return to his kisses, but Tony yanked him up by the shoulder. "Wha—hm?"_

_Tony just kissed him, hard and dirty and with an intensity Steve wasn't expecting but could certainly roll with. Then they were actually rolling, Tony hoisting a leg over Steve's hips to flip him. Tony straddled him, propped himself up with his forearms resting by Steve's head to gaze down at Steve with a beautiful smile and the utmost sincerity._

" _I think of you always, beloved."_

" _I know, you fool." Steve wrapped both arms around Tony's waist in the tightest embrace he could manage. "My fool."_

" _Your prince," Tony teased._

" _My everything," Steve murmured back, kissing him again because, well. How could he not? He stopped thinking for a few blissful moments, until Tony's fingers slid just under the hem of his pants._

_Tony hadn't done that before. They hadn't really—discussed it, exactly, when they might go farther, and it wasn't that Steve was opposed because he wasn't, God, how could he be, but—Steve's runaway train of thought was derailed farther when Tony's hands slid back up. He didn't say a word about it, just kept kissing Steve and moving his hands to Steve's back instead._

" _Tony—"_

" _S'okay." Tony shook his head, kissing Steve again tenderly and without urgency. "Just a thought. To think. And talk. About. If you wanted to talk about it, or think about it, there's no_ — _"_

" _Tony." Steve hushed him with another kiss. "Let's."_

_Tony's eyes went a little wide, flatteringly reverent, before he softened and smiled. "Yeah?"_

_Steve kissed him again, harder this time, smiling so wide Tony could probably feel it against his lips. "Yeah."_

* * *

Tony blinked, and he was watching himself grab a skinny little blond boy by the wrist—Steve, god, he'd been so much smaller than Tony remembered—and yank him along down the hall.

"Keep up, or Rhodey's gonna get us!" His five-year-old self shouted at a clearly very bewildered young Steve.

"What's a road-y?" Young Steve asked.

"'s a dragon!"

Young Steve went bug-eyed. " _Here?"_

"Yuh-huh!" His young self confirmed gleefully.

He was sort of surprised, he had to admit. Was Steve's best memory of them really when they were so young? He'd have thought…well. Simpler times, maybe. He could understand that. He tried to follow them around the corner, but when he turned, he wasn't in the castle anymore. He was at Steve's childhood home, where he could see his young self knocking on the door with a too-big rucksack on his back.

He had to have been seven then, Peter's age, because Tony remembered this, could still remember his father's look of disgruntled impatience as he'd insisted that it was all very well and nice to play with the help, but that inviting a servant's boy to Tony's birthday party wouldn't be proper. Tony had pitched an absolute nightmare of a fit _,_ lost it completely in that way seven-year-olds could, and when Howard locked him in his room to cool off he'd decided instead that he was leaving home. He'd grabbed the crown he was supposed to grow into someday, thrown it in a bag, and snuck out. Against impossible odds he actually made it all the way to Steve's, showed up at his door and—

"Hello, Mrs. Steve," his younger self was announcing now, proper and polite as he could manage. Sarah had opened the door and was wearing the very familiar expression of amused bewilderment she seemed to save especially for Tony. A pang of grief hit him; he hadn't thought of her in a long time, but Sarah had meant a lot to him. "I would very much like to live with you and Steve, please."

"Steve, honey?" Sarah called, laughter in her voice. "You've got a friend at the door."

"I do?" Young Steve poked his head around the corner, a smile lighting up his face immediately. "Tony!"

"Hey, Steve!" Young Tony beamed back, reaching behind him to tug off his rucksack and open it up. "Check it out, we can sell this an' you an' me an' your mom can eat forever!"

"Goodness." Sarah's eyes immediately went wide at the sight of the crown jewels, and she glanced around worriedly before pulling young Tony inside. "Tony, dear, you can't wave something like that around, someone will—"

The door closed and Tony's world shifted, turned and spun and blended out to…god, that was the Tipping Tree, wasn't it? And there Steve was, halfway up already and going steadily higher, but why would he ever want to remember—

"Betcha you won't make it!" A young Happy called up at young Steve—nine, if Tony remembered right—only for Tony's younger self to huff indignantly, hands going to his hips.

"He will too!"

"He's so tiny though," A young Pepper frowned doubtfully, squinting up. Wow, he hadn't seen her in ages, and certainly not this young—

"He's  _fine,"_ his young self insisted, cupping his hands together to holler up at Steve, "You're fine! You can do it!"

"I  _know_ I can," young Steve agreed crossly, "I don't need you to always tell me I can!"

"Fine then!" his young self called up, sticking his tongue out. "You  _can't_ do it, you're dumb and clumsy and you suck at climbing trees!"

"I do  _not—"_ young Steve whipped his head around to shout back angrily, and Tony winced.

He wanted to glance away, he knew what came next, but couldn't quite manage to. There it was; Steve lost his footing, the tree tipped like it was named for, and then Steve was slipping and falling from the branch, falling and falling and  _falling._  Tony knew how this ended, yet couldn't help the horrific clenching in his heart as he watched Steve bounce off that last branch and hit the ground with a sickening thud. He knew Steve miraculously came away from it with only a broken arm, but Tony had never stopped feeling guilty for it.

"Oh my God, Tony," young Steve was telling him, "Shut  _up,_ it's not your faul— _ow!_ Let go'a my arm, Happy, jeez!"

"I bet you broke it," young Pepper informed him.

"I  _said_ I'm okay—"

"I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry, but it'll be okay though cause you can go to the royal infirmary and they'll heal you super fast and—"

"I don't  _need_ to go to the— _ow!"_

The last bit was yowled at the top of Steve's lungs as he bumped it again, and at this point he began to sniffle a bit, pulling his arm in close and staring murderously at it like by being angry he could somehow will the pain and his tears away. Tony's young self stood and drew up all of his princely command.

"Happy, go fetch the healer and tell him I got hurt, he'll come running. Pepper, fetch Mrs. Rogers."

"Aw, don't get my Ma, she's just gonna—" Steve started, but Happy and Pepper had already scampered off. Steve stared at the ground sullenly. "She's just gonna baby me."

"Good," Tony's younger self announced, dropping down beside Steve and cuddling up close, apologetic and worried. He wrapped an arm around Steve as lightly as he could manage. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Steve was clearly lying, but he was also tucking his head against Tony's shoulder and still sounded like he was trying not to cry, so Tony didn't call him on it.

"I'm real sorry, Steve," his younger self repeated after a moment, "I didn't mean it, I swear. You're awesome at climbing. Better than me, and double fast."

"S'not true." Steve gave a little laugh, rubbing at his eyes with his good hand.

"Maybe not," his younger self admitted, "But you're gonna be someday, for sure. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I yelled at you first." Steve glanced up at him with a watery smile. "S'okay, Tony. Just…stay with me 'til they come back? I don't like being out here alone, there could be…" his voice dropped to a whisper,  _"Bandits."_

"Well, that's what you got me for." His younger self scooted closer, telling Steve confidently, "I'd kick all their butts twice over b'fore I'd let 'em go near you."

"That's what I got you for," Steve echoed with a smile, "And you got me too, Tony. Yeah?"

"Yeah." His younger self grinned back.

Tony remembered saying variations of that exchange a thousand times, for a thousand different reasons. It always held that initial connotation though, that childish, innocent promise of  _I got you and you got me,_ the silly little best friends forever promise they might as well have shook pinkies on. He remembered now why this was a memory Steve would want to hold onto.

Thinking about other memories Steve would select made him feel…focused, somehow. Once he started really thinking about it, picking through their shared history for the shining moments, both the landmark occasions and the simply good times spent together, he could begin to see a pattern of sorts. The more he focused on cutting through the memories to follow after Steve's…essence, he supposed, there was no real word for it, the faster the memories began to clip by. Sometimes they were no more than a few words or a wayward glance, just enough for him to get the eerie, inexplicable feeling that Steve had  _been_ there; 'there', of course, being nothing more than an ephemeral memory with no tangible location. For all that the process frustrated Tony's magic-hating brain to even think about, he couldn't deny it was working, so he stifled his discomforts and chased whatever ghost trail he'd been left.


	10. Chapter 10

" _C'mere," Tony mumbled sleepily when Steve moved a little, wrapping his arm tighter around Steve's stomach and pressing a few small kisses along his neck._

_Steve blinked awake at the attention, stretching a bit with a yawn and a hum, glancing upwards. The sky above was just beginning to turn lighter, the dusky sort of grey-blue that signaled the sun was coming up soon. Tony, presumably seeing the same thing, groaned and ducked his head to bury it against Steve's shoulder._

" _Don't we have hours? I thought for sure we had hours."_

" _We had hours." Steve turned in his arms to stretch up a bit, kiss his nose. "We used them."_

" _I regret nothing," Tony said idly, eyes tracing Steve's face with lazy appreciation as his fingers followed. He touched lightly over Steve's forehead, brushing back his hair then sliding his hand down to Steve's cheek, his jaw. "Waking up with you is easily the best birthday gift I've ever gotten."_

" _I'm glad." Steve turned his head, kissed Tony's fingers. "Happy birthday, beloved."_

" _And anniversary," Tony added, catching his chin and tugging him closer for a kiss, "Birthversary."_

" _I don't think that'll catch on."_

" _I don't think many people have anniversaries on their birthdays," Tony reasoned, "We're special. Thus, a special word."_

" _Happy Birthversary, then," Steve agreed, mostly as an excuse to steal another kiss. One led to another, and another, until Steve had to reluctantly withdraw. "We can't stay out here all day, Tony. They're expecting us back."_

" _Ah, yes." Tony grinned. "From our…what was it?"_

_Steve paused, trying to remember. It was a string of political words he'd asked Pepper for help with, something about uniting…alliances…strengthening bonds? "The point is that we went to visit Thor."_

" _You can't remember what it's called, can you?" Tony teased._

" _If you keep pressing your hard-on against my hip while I attempt to think, I'm not going to remember much of anything."_

" _Mm, but where's the fun in that?" Tony smiled, leaning forward to kiss along Steve's collarbone. Steve hummed his appreciation, tightened his arms as if there was any space left between them to fill._

" _You know we can't stay much longer."_

" _I know that no one would reasonably expect us to return all the way from Asgard until at least midday—"_

" _Tony."_

_"Steve."_

" _Anthony."_

" _Steven."_

" _I want to stay. I do." Steve kissed his temple. "But—"_

" _No more buts," Tony told him decisively, then, with a bright grin and a squeeze of Steve's backside, "With one very exceptional exception."_

" _You're ridiculous." Steve laughed as he always did, though the laughter was quick to fade to a lingering kiss._

_When they parted, Tony had a rather sweetly appreciative look on his face, so Steve kissed him again. He took selfish, greedy pride in the parts of Tony only he saw, the parts he could call his own. Tony was always seen as the brash, daring prince, the one with the smart mouth and witty charm, ever the hero. Only Steve saw him bashful, saw him sweet and loving and often a little unsure of himself. It wasn't that Steve liked him to be unsure—Tony had no need to doubt himself, he was intelligent and kind and made the right decisions far more often than not—but he liked that Tony felt safe enough that he didn't think twice to share his insecurities with Steve. They certainly shared everything else._

" _I have a new one," he murmured into Tony's skin after a moment._

" _Yeah?" Tony twisted a bit, turning onto his side so his back was to Steve and Steve could snuggle up against him the way they both liked._

" _Yeah." Steve wound an arm around him, caught Tony's fingers in his as he did. They told each others stories like this often. It was a game, of sorts, with a dose of sincerity. "It'd be hundreds of years from now. In a land far away from here, a land filled with all things fast and new and shiny, all sorts of trinkets for you to take apart and make better. You'd be the best in the land at that, I'm certain. Your intelligence would be so valued there that you'd be a king of another kind, one of your own making. You'd be as beloved by your people there as here—"_

_Tony gave a soft snort. Steve squeezed his hand for silence, and though he couldn't see for certain, he could sense the eye roll he received in return._

" _They would revere the man you made of yourself. You would be a man of iron, a man known for his bravery and charisma and wisdom, as well as perhaps his troublesome mouth." Steve nipped a little kiss into the crook of Tony's shoulder, then tucked his chin into the space. "I would be out of place, in that world. Everything would move as fast as you like it, bright and innovative and I would have to learn to keep up. But I kept up with you all those years ago, when you grabbed my hand and told me to run; I could keep up with you there, too. If you took my hand and lead the way, I could follow you anywhere."_

" _I don't want you to follow." Tony turned his head enough to catch Steve's eyes. "I want you by my side."_

" _And I would be," Steve assured, "I'll always be, love. Any time, any realm, I'll be by your side."_

"You fucking lied, you know."

_Steve shook his head, a phantom pain, but Tony didn't seem to notice. "Tell me of you; what're you like, in this realm?"_

" _I'm old-fashioned," Steve teased, "I make you work for it."_

" _As opposed to our sixteen years of foreplay?" Tony teased right back, a smirk curling on his lips._

" _Ordering me about is your foreplay? Well, it all makes much more sense now." Steve kissed his neck. "And it was only eleven, not sixteen. We met at five."_

"' _Only' eleven, he says." Tony chuckled, turning in his arms. "Don't fool yourself, darling. You're the other half of my soul, those first five years I was only in waiting."_

" _Long time to wait," Steve teased him, brushing back a stray lock of Tony's hair._

" _I'd wait forever for even a moment with you," Tony told him with an earnest sincerity so uniquely, perfectly Tony that Steve was helpless to do anything but kiss him._

"It seems I really would, you know. Clearly."

" _What?" Steve frowned, but Tony didn't respond. Didn't even seem to have heard him, or the strange voice Steve couldn't quite make out._

" _Think we would be married, in that universe?"_

" _Um." Steve paused, unsure why Tony didn't seem to have heard him, but he supposed it didn't matter. "Well, of course. We'd have a wonderful wedding. Rhodey would tease us endlessly. Happy would tear up, though he'd try to hide it. Pepper would be completely unsurprised, naturally. Thor and Loki would even come, I'd bet. Thor would—"_

"Now there's a bad idea. Might want to tell your past self not to invite war-thirsty maniacs to our wedding, sort of spells disaster if you ask me."

"— _drink all the—" Steve stuttered, slipped. Someone was saying something, but he couldn't make out what. Tony didn't seem to hear it. Was it in his head? Something washed over him though, so he let it go. It didn't matter. He was happy. He was with Tony. He was talking about their life, however imaginary, and he was happy. "—the mead, and slap me on the back hard enough to knock me over—"_

" _I swear, one of these times I'll get him to stop—" Tony began._

" _No, no." Steve just smiled. "I like him, it's fine. He's merely…enthusiastic."_

" _He's going to give me a heart attack knocking you over like that." Tony made a face. "One of these times I'm not going to be around to catch you."_

" _You? Not by my side?" Steve smiled. "I can't imagine."_

"Funny, you could imagine it quite well soon enough!"

_He heard some of it this time, something about 'imagining' and 'soon enough'. A sense of forced calm washed over him again, suddenly and abruptly. Happy. He was happy. He had Tony in his arms and he loved Tony and Tony loved him and they loved each other and they were happy, they were so, so happy—_

" _Good, because you won't ever have to." Tony leaned in and kissed him again. Steve let that wash over him as well._

_Happy. There was nowhere else in the world he'd want to be. He was with his best friend, his lover, his soulmate; he had Tony, what else could he possibly need or even want? He had no desires but to stay here, forever, wrapped up in the warmth of Tony's skin and the taste of his mouth and the tangle of their fingers, Tony's hands achingly familiar and made for his own._

"This isn't real, Steve. You know it isn't."

_This was real. This was real and he was happy and he was with Tony, he was home—_

"Believe me, I wish I could dive back into the past too. You can't imagine how much I wish we'd just stayed out in that forest, or in bed, or in a million other places where it was just you and me and everything was easy, but we didn't, Steve, we couldn't have, Obadiah—"

 _An awful, ugly screeching rang in his ears, painful as all hell. Obadiah and the glint of a knife and Tony's sleepy, confused face in the candlelight_ ,  _the butt of a knife against his skull—_

"I know you can hear me, Steve, I  _know_  you can. Listen to me, mistakes were made and reality isn't pretty but it's not—our story isn't finished, beloved. Say what you will about our fucked up, tangled mess of a story but it's  _our_ story and I'm not finished with it yet, so you get your ass up and you come back with me, Steven, or so help me—"

"Anthony?"

And it was Tony, but it wasn't. The man kneeling beside him was Tony, had to be—Steve would recognize him anywhere—but he was older, in his late twenties at least. He could've been thirty for all the weariness he carried in his eyes and stance. He looked upset, defensive, but all the anger drained from him the moment Steve met his eyes.

"Oh god, you can see me. Thank god, thank fucking god—"

Steve turned to his Tony, the Tony he was lying with, to find he'd disappeared. Panic gripped him and he bolted up.

"Tony? Tony!" Steve shouted, but only the other Tony answered.

"It's me, love, I'm right here—" Other Tony immediately moved to his side with outstretched hands, as if he might touch him, but Steve flinched away from him and raised his fists. There was a sharp flash of hurt in the false Tony's eyes at that, but Steve reminded himself it didn't matter. This wasn't Tony, this was some…shapeshifter, something else, someone that had disappeared the real Tony. The shapeshifter was taller than him, broad-shouldered and muscular with the same sort of reflexive grace about him Steve always saw in King Stark's most powerful knights; whoever this was, they could dispose of him easily and they both knew it.

Steve jerked up his chin, clenched his fists tight and demanded in the most intimidating voice he could muster, "Tell me what you did with Tony."

"I'm telling you, I amTony—"

"I don't know what you are or how you're mimicking him or what in the hell makes you think you can fool me, but I swear to God if you've hurt him in even the slightest of ways I swear I'll—"

"Don't you recognize me at all?" The shapeshifter looked hurt again and that was…they looked an awful lot like Tony, but Steve was hardly about to be fooled just because they knew how to mimic expressions.

"You look like him," Steve conceded. He still moved no closer, keeping a wary distance and his fists half raised. Looks meant nothing, looks could be replicated, could be changed by magic— "But you're much older, so your tricks failed you there."

The shapeshifter winced. "Not  _that_ much."

"You're off by at least a decade." Steve eyed the attempted replicate.

"And a rough one at that." The shapeshifter sighed. "But that's not what I'm here to—"

"I don't care what you're here for," Steve interrupted him, "I don't care about whatever game it is you want to play, I care about you returning my friend to me  _now—"_

"None of this is real, Steve." The shapeshifter was unmoved by his urgency. "You've been poisoned—"

"You poisoned me? What about Tony, did you—"

"No, it wasn't me—well, it was my fault, but I didn't—I would never want—this is just a memory, Steve. Or a dream now, I suppose, you're stuck in your head and I'm here to bring you back—"

"Or this is real," Steve snapped, "And you've kidnapped the prince of Midgard, a crime for which I will make  _certain_ you pay for with your life."

"Listen to me, we've been here before," the shapeshifter insisted, pointing a little ways away, "You danced with me right there before we went home, you remember that? We wouldn't be able to at my birthday gala and you wanted our moment, so you wouldn't take no for an answer. You stepped on my feet and even managed to elbow me at one point—

"We haven't—" Steve stammered, taken aback. He been planning to, but— "That hasn't  _happened_ yet, how could you— _"_

"—but it was the best dance I've ever had and I'd do it again, Steve, I'd do it all again. Believe me when I say that I understand wanting to stay here, god how I do, but this is only a dream, beloved." The shapeshifter reached forward, clasped Steve's face in his hands for a moment before Steve was able to stumble back, jerk away from his clutches.

"Don't—don't  _call_ me that, get your hands off me!"

"Steve," the shapeshifter pleaded softly, "What do you need to hear?"

"What I need is for you to bring Tony back!"

"There's nothing to bring back, this is a dream—"

"Then leave me to it!" Steve shouted, suddenly so furious he could hardly see straight; he lashed out, shoving and hitting Tony everywhere he could. "Give him back to me, let me have this! I don't care if it's a memory, I don't care if it's a dream, I  _want_  it! I want this back, let me have it back! Don't make me lose this again, I can't, I won't—"

Tony closed both arms around him and held tight, no matter how much Steve pushed or shoved. The irrational, desperate rage evaporated without warning, leaving Steve bereft of something he couldn't begin to put words to. He sagged in Tony's arms, buried his face in Tony's shoulder.

"I've got you." Tony stroked his back in broad strokes. "You hear me? I've got you, Steve, you're not going to lose anything, I promise—"

"This is a dream." Steve shook his head miserably. "You're not even real."

"Yes, I am," Tony told him, "I'm real, I took—there's a potion, a cure. You just have to wake up, that's all. Just wake up."

"Wake up to what?" Steve asked bitterly, memories trickling back to him, memories of loneliness and failure and horrible, vicious fights— "The future I ruined?"

"Mistakes were made," Tony acknowledged quietly, running a hand through Steve's hair now just like he always used to. If anything, that only told Steve he really was dreaming; Tony wouldn't touch him that way any more, probably never would again, and all because Steve couldn't be satisfied, couldn't be patient— "Reality isn't pretty. I know that; god, I know that. But it's what we've got."

"Or we could have this." Steve clenched Tony's shirt a little tighter, dragged him closer. "We could have this, Tony. Maybe it's a dream, maybe it's real, maybe it's something in between but we could make it ours, we could forget the mistakes and the complications and just…stay. Please, Tony. Stay with me."

"Steve." It was just his name, but the way Tony said it, soft and pleading and heartfelt, was enough.

"I have to wake up." Steve swallowed dryly after a moment, voice flat. "Don't I?"

"Peter would be incredibly cross with me if I let you die," Tony answered lightly. Steve couldn't help a watery laugh.

"I don't want to wake up," he admitted quietly, "But if I don't…you'll be stuck here too, won't you?"

Tony shrugged stiffly. "I knew the risks."

"Ignored them, you mean."

"Wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," Steve agreed without hesitation.

A wry smile flickered briefly over Tony's lips. "And here we are."

Steve looked up at him one last time. It'd been a while since he'd had to look up at Tony; he hadn't been this small since, well. Everything. He looked up at Tony, drifted forward just a little, and Tony met him the rest of the way. They bumped foreheads gently, and if Tony's eyes looked watery, Steve didn't have time to see for sure before he closed his own tightly.

* * *

Tony came to in a flash. He would've rolled forward, if not for the weight of Steve's head in his lap. Steve came to in the very same second, gasping loudly, eyes darting around wildly before honing in on Tony's face. Steve arched up almost instinctively, grasping for Tony's hand.

"Tony." He wasn't shaking visibly, but the trembling of his hands was undeniable. "Tony, God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

Tony just shushed him, cradled him closer and shushed him until his shoulders shook and the sound hitched closer to a sob. Steve clasped a gentle hand to his face and spoke again, soft and careful.

"Please, Tony—"

"I don't forgive you," Tony hissed angrily, turning away. Tears stung in his eyes and he hated Steve for it. Hated him for scaring him like this, hated him for leaving him in the first place, hated him for showing up again, hated him for the fact that he didn't hate him at all because he loved him. He still loved him and he'd always love him and it was the most painful, awful thing he had ever experienced. "I don't forgive you, I won't, don't make me forgive you—"

"I won't," Steve promised quietly, though his hand didn't withdraw from Tony's cheek. He sounded so achingly broken. The lump in Tony's throat clawed it's way a little higher. "I won't. It's alright, Anthony, just breathe."

"Nothing about this is alright." Tony choked on a bitter laugh.

"Being alive is nice." A hint of a smile flickered over Steve's lips.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," Tony ordered, "Not ever. You shout a warning or you let me take the goddamn arrow but you don't  _ever_ do that to me again."

"That's not a promise I'm going to make." Steve's thumb stroked over his cheek, familiar and foreign all at once. "You know that."

Tony nodded mutely. He did, though he wished he didn't. Steve's hand settled a little lower, caressing over the back of Tony's neck. He ought to shake him off, he knew, but. He didn't have it in him to. He bowed his head instead, allowing himself a brief respite in the warmth of Steve's palm and the tenderness of his touch.

"I've missed you so very much," Steve said softly after a moment.

"I don't forgive you," Tony repeated quietly, though the truthfulness of the statement was shaky at best.

"I don't expect you to." Steve's expression crumpled a little in spite of his words. Tony's heart ached. "I don't need you to forgive me if you can't, Tony. I just need you."

"And where were you when I needed you?" Tony bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming it. Steve didn't have any good answer to that and they both knew it. He fell silent for a long moment.

"Never again," Steve promised with the utmost conviction. Tony would like to believe that. He'd give anything to be able to believe that readily, to take Steve at his word again without doubt or question, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Steve must've read the hesitation on his face, because he just made a shushing noise and stroked his thumb over the back of Tony's neck again. "It's okay, Tony. I don't expect…this is all I need. Just you, okay? We're okay."

Tony couldn't help the slightly hysterical edge in his laugh. "I don't think two people can be any farther from okay than we are."

Steve's expression went shuttered. He wasn't quite able to meet Tony's eyes. "I've put you through hell. I know that. I know I haven't even the slightest right to ask this and I won't ask your forgiveness, either, because I don't deserve it, but…you came after me. You called me beloved again and you held me like you used to and I…I know it was a dream, I know you were just trying to wake me, but…Tony, if you have any love left for me at all—"

"Steve." Tony's voice cracked like it hadn't in years. "How can you even say that?"

Steve made a choked-off sort of sound, turned away with a stiff nod. "Of course. I'm—I'm sorry, I won't ask again."

Tony didn't need to see Steve's eyes to read the misconception in them, to know that Steve had mistaken him completely and what he was now telling himself. The cruel, revenge-desperate part of Tony that grew smaller with every moment spent in Steve's presence wanted to let him believe it. Let him think that Tony didn't care, that he'd done what was necessary to bring Steve back and nothing further; he was owed ten years worth of retribution, wasn't he? But perpetuating Steve's misery would do nothing but make Tony feel worse.

"You've got to learn to stop making assumptions," Tony told him, "You're awful at it."

"Tony…" The fragile hope in Steve's eyes was unbearable.

"I love you," Tony answered Steve's question properly, with a clarity even Steve couldn't mistake, "I love you, Steve. I've loved you my whole life and I likely always will. I'm still impossibly mad at you and I still can't bring myself to forgive you, but that doesn't change that I love you with everything that I am. What of you?"

Steve was sitting up before the last word even left Tony's mouth, turning and clasping Tony's face in both hands to be assured of eye contact, gentle but with a stiff, forced restraint.

"Think what you will about my decisions, my reasoning, hell, my sanity," Steve murmured, his voice tight and deeply earnest, "But never for a moment think that I am not wholly and completely yours. I will  _always_ love you, Anthony."

Hearing Steve say the words aloud sent a wave of relief through Tony so heady he could hardly breathe. He swayed forward, clutched at Steve's arms like a lifeline. Steve's expression softened and he all but swept Tony up in his arms in his rush to have him closer. He pressed restless, needy kisses along the side of Tony's face, his temple, down his cheek, along his jaw, until Tony lost his patience and took Steve by the back of the neck to urge him into a genuine one.

Steve gave a soft whimper against his mouth before going pliant, drawing Tony in as close as he could. Steve kissed like he was drowning for it, a tumultuous mix of passion and desperation, and Tony was no better. He dragged his hands across the back of Steve's neck and down his chest, digging his nails into any skin he could find to feel that this was real, that Steve was here, that Tony could really and truly have this again for even a moment.

"I don't forgive you," he lied into Steve's mouth.

"I don't deserve it," Steve answered, gasping the words in the small spaces where they needed air, "Don't deserve you, never have, but I love you, I love you, Tony, I love you—"

His name was the sweetest sound on Steve's lips, tragic and intense with such desperate longing Tony was helpless to do anything but kiss him harder, drag a hand through his hair and pull him closer. "I love you too, you deserve me and I love you and I need—"

"I'm yours," Steve swore lowly, voice rough and inarguable, "I'm yours, Tony, love, I promise—"

He felt so different under Tony's roving hands but he kissed just the same, so intoxicatingly familiar that for a moment Tony could forget everything that wasn't the weight of Steve's hands and the slide of their tongues and how he loved Steve with such ferocity in that moment he ached with it.

The door rattled.

It took a moment for the sound and the meaning of it to penetrate Tony's Steve-hazy brain. He pulled away for a moment and Steve chased after him, gaze going worried when Tony didn't quite let him.

"Tony?"

"The door," Tony panted and god, he hadn't been this breathless in years, "Did you hear the door?"

"Wasn't paying attention." Steve seemed similarly, gratifyingly breathless as well. He glanced towards it belatedly. "'s it open?"

"No, but I heard…" Tony watched the door another moment, then turned back to Steve. Steve, who was still holding Tony like he might disappear, still watching Tony with parted lips and that fragile, quiet hope in his eyes. "The others will want to know you're okay."

"They will," Steve agreed, but his hesitation was clear in the way his arms tightened around Tony minutely. Tony ran his thumb over Steve's cheek; Steve turned, pressed a tender kiss to his palm. "Tell me I'm not dreaming?"

"You're not dreaming, beloved," Tony promised him softly, knowing the endearment would help settle his nerves.

"Tony…" Steve relaxed a little as Tony knew he would, but the worried look didn't quite leave him. "Are we…is this…?"

"I don't know," Tony answered honestly, glancing away, "I'm still furious with you. I want to scream at you almost as much as I want to kiss you, honestly."

"Almost?" A small smile played over Steve's lips.

"Almost," Tony agreed, leaning in to steal a taste of that smile for himself. "We still have a lot to talk about, but we can revisit it later. For now, we ought to let the others know we've…returned, I suppose, at least metaphorically."

Steve nodded mutely, though he didn't actually move. Tony couldn't help a bittersweet smile, kissing Steve just once more before moving away. This one was slow, soft and promising in a way the others hadn't quite been. Even after Tony moved away, Steve's eyes stayed closed for a long moment, like if he didn't open them he could hold onto the kiss a little longer. Tony squeezed his wrist gently and Steve opened his eyes. He nodded again and sat up, righted his shirt collar before doing the same to Tony's. Tony returned the favor by fixing where he'd mussed Steve's hair.

"I like your hair better like this," Tony commented quietly, "The new style? In the midst of everything, I never quite found a good time to mention that."

Steve smiled, laid his hand over Tony's. "You took my breath away when I first saw you again. There was never any good time to tell you that either, but. It's true."

"I'm not certain I believe that." Tony clasped Steve's hand, interlocked their fingers and gave a brief squeeze. "Younger you was quite frightened by how old I looked."

"I wasn't  _frightened."_ Steve rolled his eyes. "You just didn't look the same as the boy I'd been lying next to half a moment before, that's all. You aren't even out of your twenties yet, you're still the handsomest man in all the world and you damn well know it."

"You always know when I'm fishing for compliments." Tony smiled at him. "And yet you always give them to me."

"Just telling the truth," Steve told him sincerely, leaning forward until he stopped just shy of a kiss, seeming unsure of his welcome. Tony didn't move forward, just tilted his head enough to bump Steve's nose with his. Steve accepted the hint with fervor and kissed Tony with enough gusto to take his breath away.

"The others," Tony reminded him when he'd regained half a breath, before Steve could kiss it right back out of him.

"Of course." Steve stood, separating them, and Tony found himself wishing he hadn't spoken at all. Steve, ever the mind-reader, shot him a knowing smile.

Tony moved to the door, opening it only for Bucky and Sam to nearly fall in from where they'd clearly been leaning against it. Tony raised a dangerous eyebrow, daring them to come up with an excuse. He didn't love the idea of being spied on in general, but his conversations with Steve fell into a particularly private category.

"Good to see you succeeded," Sam offered, a hint of a blush rising just above his collar. They'd definitely been spying, then. "Sire."

"We've been guarding the door for over an hour," Bucky declared, impertinent and exasperated, "I'm not going to pretend I don't know what they were up to behind it, because frankly I don't care. Now come here, you big, alive dumbass."

Bucky moved past Tony to pull Steve into a tight hug. Steve wheezed and hugged him back. "Ow, jeez, it's good to see you too, Buck."

"Don't give me the 'you worrier' tone, you're the one who decided to make out for an hour instead of saying 'hello, Bucky my bestest pal, I am alive and well' after being unconscious for four fucking days you asshole, I am well within—"

"Four days?" Tony asked sharply, "It felt like half an hour, are you joking?"

"No, it was seriously four days. Almost five, it's practically dinner—"

Tony started off immediately, calling back at Steve but not slowing down, "I need to—"

"Peter," Steve finished for him, nodding immediately. "Go."


	11. Chapter 11

Damn, Tony was sore.

Half a minute's walk and he felt like he'd run to Asgard and back; his muscles ached like he hadn't exercised in years. Then again, he hadn't moved in four days…he supposed he could hardly expect his body to be particularly appreciative of that. Come to think of it, shouldn't he be starved, or dehydrated? He didn't feel particularly either. He didn't seem to have lost weight—four days without food, shouldn't he have?—just sore as all hell.

 _Magic,_ Tony thought bitterly with a shake his head. He couldn't quite hate it, it'd saved Steve's life and his own a handful of times, but he could certainly agree whole-heartedly with Barnes.  _Hand-wavy bullshit indeed._

"Anthony?"

Nick stuttered to a stop in front of him, clearly startled to see Tony up and about. Tony was still irritated with him over the letter debacle—damn, he really ought to read that thing—but he didn't have the time for arguments or even pleasantries at the moment.

"Surprise, I live. Where's Peter?"

"I don't…I'm not sure, how did you—?"

"We can discuss the particulars later, I need to find my son." Tony moved past him abruptly, until Nick caught his arm. Tony allowed it—mostly because his muscles screamed for a moment to stand still and rest—but raised an eyebrow in warning. Whatever Nick had to add ought to be important.

"I'm glad you're well, Tony." It wasn't often Nick used the shorthand of his name; it imbibed a certain sincerity to the sentiment. Tony nodded his thanks. Nick gestured down the hall. "It's almost dinner. Peter's likely with the knights, waiting to eat."

"Thank you." Tony verbalized his appreciation this time, then headed off in that direction.

Four days. Christ. Peter must be out of his mind with worry, and Tony doubted the knights were much better. He'd seen the desperate, panic-edged relief in Bucky and Sam's eyes to have Steve back; there was something about that look that didn't quite sit well with Tony. It wasn't just that they'd been relieved Steve had finally woken, they'd looked surprised. Tony wasn't certain how long these affairs usually took, but when Bruce had pulled him from his own head he knew it'd only taken a handful of hours. Four days…there had to have been serious question about whether or not they'd return at all.

The thought briefly occurred to Tony that walking right into the dining hall might startle people, but by the time it had he was already pushing open the doors.

The chaos was immediate.

Half of them called his name incredulously, the other half blurted some variation of a swear word, but the one frantic shout of  _Daddy!_ was what caught and kept Tony's attention. Everyone was up and moving immediately, but Tony only had eyes for Peter, who raced past all of them and tackled Tony so hard he nearly took him to the ground. Though his muscles screamed in protest Tony swept Peter up straightaway, kissed his forehead then both cheeks as Peter wrapped both arms around his neck tight enough to choke him.

"I knew it!" Peter declared with a sniffle into his shoulder, "I knew you were gonna be okay, they lied, Daddy, they lied, they said—they said—!"

Then Peter was crying, sobbing loudly enough in Tony's ear he could hardly hear what anyone else was saying. Tony rubbed Peter's back soothingly, clutched him close and pressed more kisses to his hair.

"It's okay, Petey, I'm okay, see? I'm not going anywhere. Told you I'd come back, didn't I?"

Peter just mumbled some form of agreement into his shoulder and clung tighter. Rhodey was the next to shove past the growing crowd and pull him into a tight hug, squishing Peter between them. Not that Peter cared about anything that wasn't an attempt to choke Tony out via hug or wiping his snot on Tony's neck.

"What the  _hell,_ Tones?" Rhodey demanded breathlessly, "Jesus. Of all the dumb stunts you've pulled, this one wins. Four days?  _Four days—"_

"Unintentional," Tony promised, "Hell, I thought it was a half hour until Bucky and Sam told us otherwise."

"Us?" Natasha clarified, "Steve's alright too, then?"

"Alive and well." Tony nodded. The dull ache in his lower back began rising up to his shoulders; he winced. Peter was getting big. "I'm going to have to put you down for a minute here, Pete—"

" _No!"_ Peter shrieked loudly—damn, right in his ear, too—and used his arms and legs to clamp onto Tony like a vice.

"Peter, baby, I haven't moved in four days and I'm very sore, I need you to let go." Tony tried to unclasp his arms, but Peter wasn't having it.

"Then sit with me," Peter demanded.

"Peter," Tony warned.

"Please," Peter amended immediately, "Please, Daddy?"

"Of course I'll sit with you, but you've got to let go first," Tony told him.

Rhodey stepped in, helped remove a displeased Peter from Tony's arms. Rhodey bounced him a little, but Peter just scowled at him, shoved Rhodey's chest and wiggled to be let down. Rhodey gave up and put him down, only for Peter to beeline to Tony's legs and cling tightly. Rhodey opened his mouth to say something, probably about being gentle, but Tony waved him off.

"It's fine, doesn't hurt." Tony ruffled Peter's hair fondly. The clinging reminded him a little of when Peter was younger, less prone to believing him when he promised to return safely.

"Don't scare us like that again, idiot." Clint threw an arm around his shoulders, laughing when Tony winced. "Come on, come sit down. Jarvis said dinner would be ready soon and you've got to be hungry as hell."

"Come to think of it, I'm really not." Tony paused, waiting for it to hit him like a lightning strike or something, but…it didn't. "Bruce's work, I imagine. Where is he? I owe him my thanks."

"More than you think," Phil told him, "Someone ratted to the council that the typical return rate is a few hours. They wanted to give up on your return after a day's time, but Bruce…"

"Lost his mind?" Natasha supplied, seeming amused.

"Anger issues," Clint sing-songed.

"Point being." Phil glanced at the duo before continuing, "He tore your council a new one. Said that recovery could take weeks if not months and that if they preferred listening to panicked rumors over a studied mage then they ought to get their heads checked."

"Months?" Tony frowned. "That isn't true. Is it?"

"God, no." Bruce gave a disbelieving snort as he entered the room. Tony spun and grinned, moving forward to hug him only to be pulled back by Peter, still attached to his leg.

"Peter, if you really want to hug someone it seems you ought to hug Bruce." Tony grinned at him. "Sounds to me like he saved my life."

"But I wanna hug you." Peter just pouted.

"Okay, buddy." Tony bent to kiss his hair again, then gestured for Bruce to get his ass over here since it seemed he wouldn't be moving anywhere without his squirt's permission for a while.

"I just gave you the time you needed," Bruce told him with an offhand shrug, "You did all the work."

"Doesn't feel that way." Tony hugged him gratefully. Bruce was a little stiff—he wasn't much of a hugger—but Tony's mood was rapidly improving and he could be forgiven if he felt like sharing it. "I know those council bastards, they'd dig my grave themselves given half a chance. I appreciate you not giving them that chance. And I suppose I have you to thank for the part where we didn't starve to death, as well?"

"Simple spell." Bruce looked embarrassed now at what he surely saw as an excess of praise. "Hardly any trouble. You weren't using much energy anyway—"

"Bruce." Tony clasped both hands to Bruce's shoulders warmly, gave him a little shake. "This is the part where you say you're welcome and join us for dinner so we can toast you properly."

"I don't think that's necesse—"

"Peter, are you happy that I'm alive?" Tony glanced down at him.

"Duh!" Peter scowled up at him immediately, offended that Tony was asking.

"Don't you think the person who  _kept_ me alive ought to eat dinner with us?"

Peter, seeming to get where Tony was going with this, nodded once in very serious confirmation. "Duh."

"See, Bruce?" Tony grinned. "Duh."

"Alright," Bruce conceded, "I'll eat with you, so long as Clint promises not to start another food fight. These clothes are new and I don't know any cleaning spells."

"If you hadn't kept my king alive, I'd be offended," Clint informed him, "As it stands, you can have a pass."

"How magnanimous of you." Bruce chuckled.

As they all settled back into their seats around the table, it occurred to Tony that he hadn't yet seen Thor.

"Is Thor still around?"

Happy nodded. "He and his companions always show up only a few minutes before food is served. Asgardians don't seem to be particularly patient when it comes to their meals."

"No, they never have been," Tony agreed, remembering the feasts he'd had in Asgard quite vividly, "Though considering their delicacies, I can understand why. Ever had curried bilgesnipe? It's to die for."

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause. Tony knew it was his phrasing, though he could hardly be blamed for not considering it; he was sore, but he didn't  _feel_ like he'd almost died. He was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of having spent four days unconscious.

Phil tactfully tried to pick the conversation back up. "I've had it. It's surprisingly sweet."

Peter fidgeted impatiently in the seat, before giving in and impulsively climbing up out of his chair and into Tony's lap to hug him around the waist. He nuzzled his head under Tony's chin and looked up at him pleadingly; Tony knew what Peter didn't want, knew he'd told Peter a few years back that he was getting too big to sit in Tony's lap at meals and that he had to stay in his own seat. Still, he also knew when exceptions were more than called for. He wrapped his free arm around Peter and hugged him back, pressed a kiss to his temple. Uncomfortable silence had fallen once more in the meantime, so Tony assured both Peter and the group at once.

"I'm okay, Peter. I feel great. A little sore, but perfectly healthy."

"I probably ought to look you over, after dinner," Bruce commented lightly, "You and Steve both. Just to be certain."

"Where is Steve, anyway?" Natasha glanced at the door.

"Still by Bruce's quarters, I imagine. Bucky and Sam were guarding our door, he's likely still with them."

"Those two haven't been late to a meal in their lives, I'm sure they'll be in soon enough." Happy snorted.

Though he didn't love discussing war or politics in front of his son—Peter would only be this young once, and he had his whole life to deal with such things—there was a certain urgency in this case, so Tony gave in and broke his rule. "What of Loki? Were there any incidents in my absence?"

"There weren't." Rhodey leaned forward, the light coming to his eyes that meant he was discussing strategy. "We think—Thor thinks, anyway—that Loki's not after Jane after all, that threatening Jane to him was only ever a diversion. Loki went after you, specifically, out of the whole group of us; one arrow, one target, no second attacks or retaliation."

"To discombobulate you and our other forces," Tony reasoned, repeating back what Thor had told them, apparently days ago, "A kingdom without a leader is a kingdom at it's weakest."

"That's what we thought," Natasha agreed, "But what if we were giving Loki too much credit?"

"The man's off his rocker," Clint pointed out, "And Thor says he's got delusions of grandeur, that last they saw each other Loki was going on and on about how he'd been lied to, that he was owed the crown he'd been told he was an heir to."

"So you think he's after mine instead?" Tony realized, "That's insane."

"Why expect sanity from a lunatic?" Clint shrugged.

"If we want to anticipate him, we need to be looser with our logic," Phil agreed, "It's as Rhodey said; there was one arrow, one target. Just you. If he was after Jane, he'd attempt to weaken our defenses as much as possible, take out as many of us as he could while he had the chance. But if it's a kingdom he wants, he's not going to destroy it in the process of obtaining it."

"And he thinks none of you will mind if he just…what, slips into my place?" Tony couldn't help disbelieving amusement. Peter knew better than to speak during these discussions, but Tony felt Peter's arms go a little tighter around him. He stroked a hand through Peter's hair soothingly.

"Loki wants a throne," Thor announced as he entered the hall, "I imagine he thinks little of the consequences, or of how others will receive him. He never has before."

"And here I was looking forward to startling you." Tony grinned. "No surprise to see that I've pulled through? I'm hurt, old friend."

"And I am hurt you thought I ever doubted you would." Thor laughed, clapped a hand to his shoulder as he passed Tony to take his seat. "But I'm afraid Steven stole your thunder, we passed him on our way here."

"He's on his way, then?"

"Indeed."

"Good." Tony nodded. "Because I may just have a plan to smoke out your brother."

"Oh?" Thor's interest piqued immediately.

"He wants me gone so he can step in?" Tony shrugged. "Let's give him what he wants."

"Let word spread the spell failed," Phil caught on immediately, nodding, "Loki will make his move."

"Precisely," Tony agreed, "You're the only ones who've seen me alive so far, anyway—you all and Nick, who is most assuredly capable of keeping secrets."

"Then we ought to inform him before he mentions—" Happy rose, and Tony nodded.

"Go, let him know he can tell no one and most certainly not the council."

Happy was only gone a moment before the doors swung open again; it could be Steve and the others, but it could also be their food, so Tony did the first thing he could think of and ducked under the table. Peter's presence in his lap made the maneuver awkward and fumbling, enough that they both bumped an elbow or two and Tony's muscles screamed protest. He worried briefly that Peter might make noise, but his smart boy knew well enough to keep quiet, just bit his lip and watched Tony in muted seriousness for further cues. Tony held a finger to his lips, assuring Peter they needed to remain quiet, then kissed his forehead with a quick whisper of, "Good boy."

It was in fact the arrival of dinner, so they waited quietly as food was served, listening to the knights' idle babble and watching the footsteps of the serving hands. The tablecloth was long enough to hide them, Tony was sure, but he could only cross his fingers Steve wouldn't be ill-timed enough to enter now.

"Where's Prince Peter?"

"With his father," Natasha assured.

"Serve his dinner, he'll return for it," Rhodey added.

The serving hand who'd asked sighed now, solemn. "Will he? He's missed half his meals. That's not good for a growing boy, no matter his troubles."

Tony poked Peter's stomach with a reprimanding whisper, "Peter."

Peter pouted at him.

"You can't stop eating every time I get in a spot of trouble."

"I wasn't hungry." Peter glanced down guiltily. Tony sighed. There was little to be done about it now. Above them, the serving hand continued.

"Though one can hardly blame him, I suppose. The Stark line bears such tragedy, doesn't it?"

"It really is a tragedy," Clint confided to her. He managed to hit the right tone between gossiping and contrite, enough to sound genuine. Tony admired his acting. "Peter's saying goodbye, now. Come midnight…"

"Clint," Phil interrupted sharply, picking up his cue perfectly.

"Everyone'll know tomorrow, anyway," Clint defended.

"That's the end of it all, then?" The serving hand sounded horrified. "That poor boy. And poor King Tony, too. What a waste of such a brilliant man, all for that ungrateful Rogers."

Tony's fists clenched tight of their own accord.

"I wouldn't say that too loudly," Natasha commented with a careful blandness Tony knew to be one of her most dangerous tones, " _Sir_ Rogers has friends."

"Indeed," Thor told her, voice gravely serious. It was no show for Tony's benefit; she'd genuinely offended Thor, that much was quite clear. "I've known Steven since we were young, the man doesn't have an ungrateful bone in his body. He gave his life to defend your king and would be horrified to know the risks Anthony took to bring him back; you'd do well to pay respect to your knights instead of blaspheming their good name."

"Of—of course, I apologize," she correctly herself immediately, flustered now and backing away towards the door, "I was out of line."

"You were," Thor agreed resoundingly.

Tony heard the door swing shut just seconds later. He climbed back up into his chair with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn't much considering Peter kneed him in the crotch crawling back up with him. He hissed a swear.

"That's not a very nice word," Peter informed him, already picking up his silverware and making a go for his dinner.

"And you just hit me in a not very nice place," Tony replied, still smarting, before turning to Thor, "You know, if you wanted my serving hands to wet themselves you ought to just pull out that old thunder trick of yours next time."

"She was disrespectful." Thor didn't look amused.

"She was," Tony agreed.

"Tony…" Clint started, though he trailed off before he could put anything more exact into words. Tony sighed.

"Steve's a knight. And an old friend. The rest is…up in the air, and nothing I wish to discuss further." Tony squeezed his arm a little tighter around Peter, glanced down at him pointedly. The others seemed to receive the message clearly enough and dropped the subject for the moment. Tony wouldn't always be able to use his son as a feelings-talk shield, but he wasn't ashamed to abuse it while he could. "More importantly, Phil—I'd like you to go find Steve and get him in here. If he talks to too many people, news of our return could spread too far to control."

Phil nodded and stood, but sat back down as the doors to the hall opened. Tony prepared to duck under again, but the displeased expression on Rhodey's face said enough about who it was. And that was entirely, completely understandable, but. Tony leaned a little closer to him anyway, elaborated quietly just to Rhodey.

"We're trying," Tony told him, "Trying to try, that is."

"Of course you are." Rhodey didn't look surprised, just resigned.

"Please," Tony asked quietly.

Rhodey had to know what he was asking, they'd been friends too long for him not to. Tony wasn't asking him to forgive Steve, or even to necessarily act friendly with him; all he needed was for Rhodey to try and observe Steve with a clear head, see him for who he was now and get a read on his intentions. Tony was never going to be unbiased enough to be certain on his own. Rhodey gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Steve moved past them both, taking a seat in his usual place, Bucky and Sam on either side of him. Steve's gaze was a weight on his shoulders, heavy and unavoidable. Tony spoke first to clear the air.

"Have you spoken to anyone yet? Besides Bucky and Sam."

A flash of startled confusion crossed Steve's face. He glanced around at their very public setting. "No, I didn't—or to them, Tony, I thought—"

"Has anyone seen you alive yet?" Tony interrupted sharply, clarifying before Steve could dig a hole no amount of tact and subject changes would be able to pull them out of. "Besides Bucky, Sam, and our Asgardian guests."

Steve's ears colored immediately as he realized his mistake. "Ah. No. Well, we passed Nick, but he didn't seem surprised."

"Good." Tony nodded. "Because officially speaking, you and I are going to die."

"That's, uh." Steve glanced down, seeming to realize there wasn't a meal in front of him, though Bucky and Sam had both had food awaiting them. "Unfortunate. Why would—?" He stopped short, realizing, "Loki."

"You always had a mind for strategy," Rhodey commented beside Tony, eyeing Steve as neutrally as he seemed able, "Sound like a good plan to you?"

Steve seemed to think it over for a moment, but he was already nodding. "I don't see why not. If he thinks Tony's already dead, he'll stop trying to kill him and make his real play."

"Loki's a sneaky bastard though," Bucky pointed out, "All this dark magic shit? I'd bet he's got eyes on the castle."

"He can't have a watcher spell on us," Bruce cut in, "I recrafted the castle's wards myself, they're airtight. We can't be watched, not through magic. He can't enter under false pretenses, either, be it invisibly or with any form of shape-shifting."

"Doesn't rule out spies, though," Sam suggested. A murmur of disagreement rose up, as it always would when the suggestion of disloyalty rose, but Phil calmed it.

"It's a possibility," Phil acknowledged to Sam, then turned to Tony, "Even if we didn't suspect spies, it'd be best if you kept out of sight. Word of mouth is slippery at best."

"My chambers have an undocumented passageway," Tony mused. The surprise on the others' faces was clear, but Peter squirmed immediately at the mention.

"Daddy!" he protested through a mouthful of food, "You said you wouldn't tell!"

"Sorry, baby." Tony squeezed his hand. "Special exception."

"But don't tell 'em why, okay?" Peter mumbled, embarrassed.

"I won't," Tony assured him, before continuing to the others, "I built it myself, there's no one else who could know about it. In theory, I could stay in my chambers indefinitely; meals and water could be brought in through the passageway, and I'd have something of an escape route if necessary. No one would be the wiser."

"Something of?" Clint questioned, "Where's it go?"

"It wasn't meant to be an escape route," Tony elaborated a little, "Just a passageway between Peter's and my chambers. But it's something, and it'll stop you from having to explain why you're entering a deceased king's chambers. You could just enter Peter's, console the grieving—"

Tony paused.

He loved his son with all his heart, but he in no way believed Peter was capable of portraying credible grief. Not so young, and not for as long as the charade might go. It could take days, it could take weeks, but Tony wasn't even certain Peter would be able to manage the former. Tony remembered how he'd felt when his parents had passed, lost and angry and hurting enough that it'd been visible in everything he did; this, when he'd been much older and with much more hands off parents than he'd always strived to be with Peter.

"That could work to our advantage, actually." Rhodey seemed to have picked up on his train of thought. "If Peter 'refuses' to leave his room, he'll need meals brought to him, and if we need to speak to you it'll look as if we're just going to try and console him."

"I have to stay in my room too?" Peter frowned up at Tony.

"I think so, Pete." Tony sighed.

"But you and Steve are gonna stay with me?" Peter perked up.

That was…not something Tony had yet considered. He supposed it'd be impractical for Steve to stay in his own chambers; his didn't have any sort of passageway, and to have them separated would only make it harder to communicate and bring them things without arousing suspicion. But to have Steve in  _his_  chambers would make things infinitely harder on Tony's sanity—

"I think I ought to hide out in my own chambers, Peter," Steve answered for him. Tony met his eyes, but he seemed to hold no resentment for Tony's hesitance, just understanding.

"How come?" Peter leaned a little on the table, nearly landing an elbow in his potatoes. "Don't you wanna hide with me and Daddy? It'll be fun, like our adventure!"

"All my things are in my room," Steve told him with a bit of a smile, "And I'll need a place to sleep, besides. Sorry, buddy. Next time."

"You can bring your stuff," Peter insisted, excitement growing, "And Daddy's bed is real big, we could all fit, like a sleepover!"

Most of the table managed to retain a straight face; Bucky snorted his drink and Clint was trying so hard not to laugh aloud that he dropped his fork. Tony cut in quickly.

"He said no, Peter, that's enough."

"But how come?" Peter whined.

"It does seem fairly impractical," Thor pointed out mildly, his expression the picture of innocence. Tony only narrowed his eyes. Thor had always been good at playing innocent, but Tony had known him too long to be fooled. Before he could say anything, however, Clint was joining in.

"Sneaking food out is going to be hard enough," Clint agreed, attempting and failing horribly to mimic Thor's innocent expression. "Plenty of people are going to wonder why we're bringing it into a dead guy's chambers."

"No one would question us going into Peter's." Sam nodded with a wave of his knife for emphasis. "If you were all in one place, that is."

"It'll make it easier to empty Steve's chambers, as well," Phil reasoned, and god, Phil too? Tony was surrounded by traitorous bastards. "Delaying the cleaning out of yours makes sense, you're owed more respect and a regent wouldn't receive your chambers anyway, they'd be kept empty until Peter was old enough. But we can only delay clearing out Steve's for so long…"

"Bit unfair to expect us to run circles around the castle, too," Natasha chimed in. Her voice was teasing, but Tony knew the small smile on her lips to be genuine. She thought he ought to, then. Natasha was a good assessor of people and their intentions, always had been, and had no past history with Steve to cloud her judgment. Still, Tony glanced to Rhodey.

"Communication would be a lot simpler if we could keep you two in one place." Rhodey shrugged stiffly.

"Sleepover?" Peter attempted to contribute to the guilt fest, pulling out his best, most adorably effective pout.

Tony gave a defeated sigh, waving a hand at Steve for his opinion as he reached for Rhodey's goblet. He could stand not being served dinner for a night. Withholding wine, on the other hand, was just rude. Even if the servers thought him dead.

"I could stay in Peter's quarters," Steve offered carefully.

"How come you won't stay with us?" Peter demanded, offended.

"I'm a big guy, you don't want me elbowing you out of bed, do you?" Steve teased, voice still light and careful, "I'll take yours, you'll sleep with your father, everyone will be much more comfortable that way. If that's alright with you, Tony?"

"Apparently my highly-trained knights are too lazy to cross the castle." Tony rolled his eyes, managing to steal a gulp of wine before Rhodey snagged the goblet back. "I'd hate to inconvenience them."

"With that settled." Phil, ever the sensible one, circumnavigated further talk of bed arrangements. "We might want to begin considering how we're going to get the three of you all the way to the west wing unseen."

"I suppose sending scouts ahead in each direction would be too conspicuous," Tony mused.

"And any method of warning would be obvious," Natasha agreed. Before Clint could so much as pucker his lips, she added, " _Especially_  yours."

"But I sound  _exactly_  like a bird," Clint protested. Peter bounced excitedly in Tony's lap.

"Do it do it do it," he prompted eagerly. Clint gave a chirpy little whistle. Peter clapped his hands with a gleeful grin.

"See? Peter thinks it's perfect," Clint declared.

"Yes, but yet he still doesn't think you're an actual bird." Tony rubbed a hand to his forehead. "We've been over this, it doesn't fool anyone if they can see you make the sound."

"I'd wait until they turned around, obviously," Clint defended.

"It seems like they'd still be able to hear that it was coming from you," Steve pointed out. Clint turned on him, shocked.

"Hey, I stood up for you, jerkwad!"

"More importantly." Rhodey eyed Clint warningly. "Your bird call doesn't work, and scouting would be too obvious anyway."

"I could turn you all invisible," Bruce suggested off-handedly.

Tony almost jumped to hear him speak again; Bruce was far too good at letting others forget he was present. In fact, only he and Thor had managed to finish their dinners, everyone else was still too busy talking. They all fell silent as that sunk in, however.

"I thought you said the castle was warded," Steve spoke first.

"Loki's magic is very powerful, if there are no wards—" Thor began, concerned, until Bruce shook his head.

"No, there are. But like I said, they're mine." Bruce seemed to realize after a moment that wasn't enough information for the altogether magic-clueless group. "A spell of mine won't block my own spells. Basic magical logic."

"Did you just use 'magical' and 'logic' in the same sentence?" Bucky snorted.

Bruce only sighed, clearly all too used to having his talents disrespected or misinterpreted. For all that Tony couldn't stand the stuff, he owed a lot to Bruce's skill with it; everything from minor cuts and bruises over the years to, now, Steve's life. He supposed he ought to be less cavalier about it.

"It makes some sense," Tony attempted to defend, reasoning, "You don't lock a door if you don't have the key."

"Exactly." Bruce smiled. Good. "I can keep you invisible indefinitely, so long as you stay within about ten feet of me. Once you move away I can hold it about…a minute, maybe two, before it drops. Less, if it's going to be all three of you."

"We can stay within ten feet," Steve assured, looking a little ashamed of himself now, "Thank you, Bruce. Not just for this, but—you helped save my life and I hadn't yet gotten a chance to thank you for that."

"Tony did all of the—"

"Tony did a lot," Steve acknowledged, "And I thanked him for that, but—"

Bucky snorted his drink,  _again._ Steve and Tony both shot him incredulous, shut-the-hell-up-esque stares. Bucky winced after another second, swearing and shooting a dark glare at Sam, who must've kicked him under the table.

"I thanked him." Steve repeated, with one last, narrowed-eyed squint at Bucky that dared him to comment. "But you're the one who made it possible, and for that you have my sincerest gratitude."

Bruce glanced briefly at Tony, as if he might  _object_ of all things, so Tony shifted a protesting Peter back to his own seat, snagged Rhodey's goblet again, and stood.

"Knights make dumb calls," Tony announced, "We're adrenaline-fueled danger junkies who take poison arrows for each other and pop into each other's heads for a couple days against all advisement. We get stomachs riddled with arrows defending each other..." Tony gestured with his goblet to Natasha. "We lose our hearing to banshees so our fellows can escape alive..." Tony nodded to Clint. "We do what we have to in order to protect each other, to avenge what we need to. But we wouldn't be able to do it half as well if there wasn't someone stitching us up behind the scenes. I can't say I love not understanding exactly how it works, but I sure can't argue with the results." Tony raised Rhodey's goblet high. "To Bruce Banner, the only reason any of us are still alive."

"To Bruce Banner!" the knights resounded.

Bruce looked embarrassed, but the small, quietly pleased smile playing on his lips was good to see. Tony mouthed an extra, personal,  _thank you,_ to him. Bruce nodded, smile widening a fraction. Tony tipped the goblet at him, took a swig before returning to his seat. The moment Tony was back down Peter was back in his lap, understanding of the speech but cross about how Tony had removed him from his lap without warning, and Rhodey swiped his goblet back.

"Quit stealing, you old drunkard," Rhodey warned.

" _Old?"_ Tony gaped at him as Peter resettled himself. "I'll have you know I'm in the prime of my youth, you ass."

"You've got a birthday in a few weeks that says otherwise," Rhodey just hummed, sipping at his reclaimed wine.

Tony scoffed. "Twenty-eight is nothing."

"Broaching thirty."

"You're broaching rude." Tony scowled at him. "Peter,  _you_ don't think I'm old, do you?"

"Well…you're a daddy," Peter told him reasonably, as if that explained everything, with a sympathetic pat to Tony's shoulder. Laughter echoed around the table.

"I don't think I've ever been so insulted," Tony decided, "First I'm scaring the hell out of Steve, now my own son's thinking it—"

"You didn't  _scare_ me," Steve insisted once again with a laugh, "One minute you're eighteen, the next you're nearly twenty-eight; you grew a beard, for Christ's sake. I was rightfully confused, that's all."

"What was that like, anyway?" Clint leaned forward on the table, intrigued. "The dreamshade thing? You were in the middle of some great memory and old-Tony just walked on in?"

"Refer to me as 'old-Tony' again and I'll kick you out of the knights," Tony threatened, but there was no heat to it and they all knew it.

"Not exactly," Steve answered Clint's question thoughtfully, "I was just in the dream one moment, and the next…I kept hearing a voice I couldn't place. I'd only catch a word or two, but eventually he was loud enough I couldn't ignore him."

"So his voice woke you up?" Bruce asked next, also seeming curious now. Tony laughed.

"Hell no. That's too easy, isn't it? No, he was convinced I was a shapeshifter, said my 'spell' failed because my appearance was off by a decade."

The others laughed as well and Steve colored a little, defended himself, "It was a reasonable enough thought at the time."

"What convinced you?" Rhodey was the next to question him. Tony glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Rhodey seemed…calm enough. More neutral than before at least.

"He'd been there, the first time. He knew things that had happened, things I'd planned to make happen." Steve had gone thoughtful again. "And I think…I think I knew, anyway. When it was just his voice I remember wanting to ignore it if I could, but he kept talking and talking and he—pulled me out the memory, that way, but once I could see him, I was just so… _angry_ , though I didn't have any reason to be. The poison made me want to stay past the point of rationality, even when if I'd been in my right mind I'd have wanted to come back."

"Huh," Bruce commented quietly. The table to turned to him. "What?"

"You 'huh'd. Is what he said unusual?" Tony asked when it seemed no one else was going to.

"Not—nothing bad. The anger and resistance to leave is perfectly normal."

"And what isn't?" Steve's brow furrowed, catching what Bruce left unsaid.

"Well, it's a different scenario, remember, past the four hour point, all bets off, et cetera." Bruce poked at his food a bit, tilted his head back and forth, seeming to debate saying anything at all. "Hardly matters, regardless. It's just that victims usually can't hear voices, so that's—it's interesting, that you did."

"How do you wake someone without being heard?" Tony asked. It'd been hard enough  _with_ being heard.

"Physical contact." Bruce half-shrugged. "Excessive amounts. I had to push you off a bed, remember?"

"I try to forget." Tony rubbed a hand to his forehead. He had some vaguely horrible memory of being halfway through making love and having an older, temporarily unrecognizable man appear out of nowhere and shove him out of bed. It was a…traumatic mix, to say the least. "Forgive me if I prefer the original memory."

Bruce laughed. "Most would."

Steve had been watching him for a long moment, and it was like a switch turned on; he snapped his fingers, a bright smile appeared on his face, and he blurted, "Muspelheim."

"The nine level tourney." Tony nodded, unable to resist returning the smile. Even after all these years, Steve still could read him like no one else. "Christ, that was the only bright spot in that entire awful weekend."

"Surtur might've been a more gracious loser if you hadn't spent the day before calling him Furter and making fart noises behind his back," Steve pointed out. Peter giggled in his lap at the word 'fart'.

"And how old were you that you still thought fart jokes were funny?" Natasha raised an amused eyebrow at him.

"Ten," Tony lied horribly, they'd been seventeen and completely shameless, "And  _I_ wasn't the one who came up with it."

"Sure, but I didn't let him hear me  _say_ —"

"Bullshit, you goaded me into—"

"Goaded, sure, but I didn't—"

"Liar!" Tony crowed, "At the pond, he bent over and—"

"Okay, once, not that I could've reasonably been expected to restrain myself from—"

"Well, obviously he was asking for it, but that wasn't the—"

"It was  _too_ the only time, now who's lying—"

"What about the—"

"That doesn't count, I was—"

"Dear god what is happening." Clint glanced between the two of them, sounding horrified.

"That." Rhodey gave a quirk of a smile, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of wine. "Would be the sound of the universe righting itself."


	12. Chapter 12

"Peter, I swear—"

"—and then Steve can read to me, except you gotta do the voices, but Steve can do most of it and then—"

" _Peter,"_ Tony tried to grab him again, but Peter ducked out of his reach and over to the bookshelf, where he snatched up more than a few books.

"And cause you been gone so long I think I should get four books, one for every day you were gone—"

"Does he breathe?" Steve tried not to laugh, but it was difficult; watching a near-manically excited Peter run circles around an exasperated Tony was pretty much the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks.

"Not nearly often enough," Tony grunted, making another snatch for Peter, who jumped up on his bed instead.

"—except you were both gone, so I think I should get eight books, one for each'a you to read, just so it's fair—"

"If you're not in that tub in ten seconds we're not reading anything, buddy." Tony pointed at the tub expectantly. "One."

Peter immediately dropped the armful of books he'd collected and scooted off the bed, running and shedding clothing at the same time. It was a hilarious sight, only made better when he forgot his socks.

"Peter, no, you—" Tony started, but Peter was already practically throwing himself into the tub, splashing water everywhere. "…forgot to take your socks off."

"Oh." Peter peered down into the water curiously for a moment, then stripped them off too and dumped them over the side. "Sorry, Daddy."

"Right." Tony took a deep breath, rubbed a hand over his face. "Just…use soap, this time."

"I always use soap." Peter stuck his chin up defiantly. Tony eyed him, and he wavered. "Except when it's too sticky."

"You always think it's too sticky."

"I mostly use soap," Peter amended.

"Make this a mostly time," Tony warned, "I know when you don't, Peter, and Steve only reads to  _clean_ boys."

"That's not true." Peter stuck his tongue out at Tony, but glanced at Steve nervously. Steve winked at him. Peter grinned.

"You know what is true? Steve won't read so much as a word to you if I tell him not to," Tony corrected himself. Peter glanced at Steve expectantly, but Steve shrugged this time. Guilty as charged.

"Fine," Peter mumbled, grabbing the bar of soap and rubbing it over his face. "There, done."

"Properly, Peter," Tony told him, "We'll be back in ten minutes, and I want you scrubbed head to toe. Got it?"

"Got it," Peter muttered.

"So where's this passageway?" Steve asked, admittedly curious. He'd examined Peter's chambers when they'd come in a little bit ago, while Tony had roped Peter into a bath, but hadn't been able to find anything out of the ordinary.

"Bit more of a…doorway, I suppose," Tony admitted, moving to the bookshelf. He crouched down, pulled on a thick green book to tip it down. There was a slight creak, then the bookshelf began to move. Tony stepped back, let it rotate slowly until it stopped halfway through, enough space on either side for a person to pass through.

"You built this?" Steve marveled at it, though he couldn't really be surprised. Tony had always loved to fix things, tweak them, make them better or more interesting.

Tony waved Steve along into his chambers without answering the question, then bent back down to push the book in again. The shelf shuddered along back into place.

"Don't let on to Peter that you know, he gets embarrassed." Tony glanced at the shelf, but seemed satisfied Peter couldn't hear them now that it'd closed. "I built it because he gets nightmares. He doesn't like me talking about it, and he definitely doesn't like the guards by our doors knowing how often he still has to come get me, so I built that to let him sneak in without alerting the guards."

"Of course you did." Steve smiled. Only Tony.

Tony shrugged off his admiration. "There was…an incident, a little while back. It's what gave him the nightmares. I can't say I don't sleep a little easier knowing he's right beside me, or that I've at least got quick access to his chambers if he's in them."

"He mentioned something to me a week or so back, at least briefly." Steve watched Tony's expression carefully, "He said you told him they were never coming back."

"They aren't." Tony's jaw tightened.

"Tony—"

"I know what I said," Tony interrupted, meeting Steve's eyes challengingly, "When we were kids. But if you're going to—"

"Tony, stop." To Steve's surprise, Tony did. "You made that promise when we were, what, fourteen? You were idealistic."

"The word you're looking for is naïve."

"The word is idealistic." Steve smiled at him, chancing to move a little closer, enough to squeeze Tony's shoulder. "And it's one of my favorite things about you. You're always so hopeful of the future. You wanted never to execute someone and that was a good thing to hope for, but they threatened your son. You'd never sleep again if they were still out there."

"No," Tony admitted quietly, like it was some sort of fault, "I wouldn't."

"I would've done it," Steve told him honestly.

Tony laughed bitterly. "No, you wouldn't have. There's always another way, with you."

"If they'd threatened my child? Or you?" Steve met his eyes steadily. "I wouldn't so much as hesitate."

Tony watched him for a long moment, then the defensiveness of his stance eased and he moved forward to clasp a hand behind Steve's neck, tug him forward. The kiss was chaste by their measure, but simple and sweet and everything Steve had missed the most. His hands fell to Tony's waist and he hugged him close, savoring the moment for as long as it would be allowed to him. The scratch of Tony's stubble against his mouth was unfamiliar and new, but then, it all was. He was taller than Tony now, for one, and they'd both filled out their gawky teenage bodies. It was different and new and Steve liked it, he loved it, but he wanted more for it to be familiar again. He'd once known every inch of Tony, how he felt against Steve and the sounds he'd made and how he'd react to Steve's every touch. He didn't know what had changed and what had stayed the same, but he wanted to, he would always want to. He just had to hope Tony was offering him the chance Steve thought he might be.

"Da—!"

The sound was muffled and cut off, but Tony's reaction was immediate. He didn't so much as pause before breaking Steve's hold and bolting away, nearly sprinting to the bookshelf and yanking the correct book down, shoving his way through the gap before it'd even finished turning. It took Steve half a second longer to realize what was happening but he followed after quickly, drew his knife like Tony had and—

"Don't  _do_ that to me, you gave me a goddamned heart attack," Tony bit out as Steve stepped through.

"He was going to draw attention we don't need." Rhodey stepped back, hands up in a placating gesture. "I just covered his mouth before he could, Tony, he's fine. Breathe."

"Jesus." Tony breathed deeply, then offered Rhodey a nod. "Quick thinking."

"Everyone's alright?" Steve confirmed.

"Peachy." Tony huffed, dropping down to crouch beside a naked and still dripping wet Peter. "Peter, what do you call if—?"

"I know what to call, but I wasn't in _—"_ Peter started to protest, but Tony took him by the shoulders, hushed him.

"I know you weren't, but I need you to remind me you know, okay?"

"Red," Peter told him cooperatively.

"Good boy." Tony pulled him into a hug in spite of the fact that he was sopping wet, pressed a kiss to his hair. "Thank you."

Steve's quizzical look must've asked the question for him, since Rhodey offered, "Danger codeword."

"I know what to do," Peter added when Tony released him, seeming a little petulant that Tony didn't trust him.

"I know you do, I just heard someone muffle you and…" Tony hesitated slightly. Steve knew it probably also didn't help that they'd just been talking about the incident, prior to, well. "I was distracted, I didn't think about why you didn't call the right word. What did you call me for, Peter?"

"Rhodey wants to talk t'you." Peter gestured his head towards Rhodey.

"When I asked you to get him for me, Pete, I meant to show me the passage." Rhodey chuckled at Peter, who gave a sheepish grin.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's alright." Rhodey glanced over at the shelf. "Swiveling bookcase, huh? Neat. Been in both these rooms a hundred times, never would've guessed."

"That's the point." Tony smirked, glancing back at Peter. "Dry off, get ready for bed. Rhodey and I have to talk, then I'll read to you for a bit, alright?"

" _And_ Steve?" Peter insisted.

"And Steve," Tony confirmed, pinching Peter's bum and earning an annoyed squeak. "Now put some clothes on, you're far too old to run around naked."

"How about I help you get ready?" Steve offered to Peter, uncertain if the conversation between Rhodey and Tony was meant for him as well. Neither man said anything, so Steve supposed not.

"Alright! Come on." Peter took his hand, pulled him over to the dresser. He tugged open a drawer with visible effort and started going through the variety of nightclothes. "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue," Steve answered, "But you should dry off first, you'll soak your clothes if you put them on now."

"I know that." Peter stuck up his chin insistently. "I was just picking 'em out."

"Whatever you say." Steve chuckled.

Peter stuck his tongue out at him, then yanked out his selection to lay on the bed. "Red is better. You should make red your favorite color."

"I suppose I could consider it." Steve pretended to think on it.

"Red is cool cause it's on my sheets, see? And it's like apples—that's my favorite fruit—and there's also red birds outside my window sometimes, and in the courtyard the leaves turn red in Fall, and plus it's even the color of guts!"

"And exactly how many times has your father let you see 'guts'?" Steve raised a dubious eyebrow. Tony was overprotective at best; Steve highly doubted Peter had been allowed any sort of gory anatomy demonstrations.

"None times," Peter admitted, "Yet! But that's what Harry said, and he saw someone's  _insides_ get ripped out. He said they were red and wrinkly and squishy-looking, but his dad wouldn't let him touch 'em. You've been lots of places, have  _you_ ever touched guts?"

"Enough about guts, Peter, get dressed," Tony called from the other end of the room.

"Okay!" Peter called back, then, quietly, "But have you?"

"No," Steve answered, "Though I've seen a lot of blood, and red's not so pretty a color, then."

"But you're a knight." Peter wrinkled his nose, seeming confused. "How can you be afraid of blood?"

"Not afraid. I just don't like it much when I know the person who's bleeding." Steve moved to fetch Peter a towel, since he didn't seem to be getting it on his own. "Here, dry off."

Peter dried off in silence, apparently pondering what Steve had said. When he was about halfway dressed, he finally remarked, "I guess I don't like it when Daddy bleeds."

Steve couldn't help a bittersweet smile. "You and me both, buddy."

"Or the knights," Peter elaborated, "Or if Bruce did, or Harry, or Gwen. Or you. Do you bleed?"

Steve laughed. "I try not to. But if I get hurt, sure. Everyone bleeds."

"But you're the Lost Hero, you're magic," Peter explained rationally.

"Your father may have exaggerated a little about my powers, Pete." Steve chuckled, attempting to help Peter get the nightshirt over his head.

"I can do it," Peter insisted, pushing his hands away to finish squirming into it on his own. "So you're only a little magic?"

"I'm afraid I'm not really magic at all," Steve admitted, "Sorry."

"Oh." Peter considered this. "If you  _were_ magic, what kinda power would you want?"

"Time travel." Steve didn't so much as pause.

"That'd be cool!" Peter agreed, eyes widening, "We could go back in time, see my grandparents, or even my  _great_ grandparents! Or we could go to the future, see what the kingdom looks like in a billion years. My great-billionth grandkid would be older'n me, I bet."

"What on earth do you have my seven year old talking about grandkids for?" Steve heard Tony give a little snort behind him.

"We're talkin' about time travel!" Peter told him eagerly.

"Ah," Tony commented. Steve wasn't certain how to read that. He glanced behind them to see if Rhodey still needed anything, but he was gone.

"What did Rhodey need?"

"Just the daily update. Well, four days worth of them."

"Anything?"

Tony shook his head. "Nothing of note, or he would've told me earlier."

"What about you, Daddy?" Peter bounced up to him. "What kind of power would you want, if you had magic?"

"Time travel would certainly be nice," Tony admitted softly, glancing up at Steve, "But the present's not too bad."

"Then what would you want?" Peter asked again.

Tony held Steve's gaze another moment, before turning back to Peter. "Flight, I think. Seems to me like dragons have it pretty good, I might like to be able turn into one of those if I could."

Peter's eyes went wide in awe. "That'd be the best!"

"You  _would_ want to be a dragon." Steve couldn't help a laugh.

"Well, what would you want?" Tony challenged, "Forgetting what can't be changed, what power would you go for?"

Steve considered that a moment. "Super strength."

"You've got a muscle obsession, that's what it is." Tony snorted. "Having biceps the size of Peter's skull isn't enough for you?"

"Are they?" Peter eyed Steve's arms dubiously, leaning up close to him, clearly trying to measure his head. Steve flexed for him. Tony's eyebrows jumped.

"Good god, they get bigger."

"Not much." Steve couldn't help coloring a little at the appreciative look in Tony's eyes. It'd been a long, long time since Tony had looked at him that way.

"You're already the strongest there is, I dunno what you wanna be stronger for anyway," Peter told him distractedly, still busy sizing his head up against Steve's arm.

"Strongest there is seems like a bit of an overstatement." Steve laughed. "But thank you."

"No, Daddy said so." Peter frowned when he was contradicted, turning to Tony. "Right?"

"Well…" Tony hedged, "I may have fibbed a little about certain details when I was telling you those stories."

"Exactly what fibs have you been telling about me?" Steve raised an eyebrow, teasing him. It was Tony's turn to color a little, the back of his neck going red like it always had. Some things didn't change, then. He teased him a little more, "What? Were you wishing I'd been this strapping all along?"

"No," Tony scoffed immediately, "You were much cuter as you were."

"Steve used to be cute?" Peter peered up at them. Tony's eyes widened a fraction and his neck went a little redder.

"I don't know." Steve grinned. "You tell me, Tony."

"Cute, as in—cute the way you are, Peter, as in he was younger, more of a, um." Tony stumbled a little trying to explain away his slip of the tongue. Then, with a bit of a huff at Steve, he settled on, "You know, he was mostly like a baby duck, all gangly and fumbling."

"A baby duck," Steve repeated with a shake of his head, "Flatter a guy, why don't you?"

"But you said he was strong." Peter frowned, confused now.

"No, I said…" Tony trailed off, glancing at Steve embarrassedly before clearing his throat and finishing quickly, "I said strength was all in the heart now I think it's past someone's bedtime—"

"Aw, Dad—" Peter started, but Tony was already hustling him over to where the bookshelf was still open.

"Having you around is like owning a parrot," Tony grumbled good-naturedly at Peter, pinching his side and earning a yelp of protest, "Except far more work."

"Well, I for one am very interested in what the parrot has to say." Steve grinned, following after them. "Strength is all in the heart, and, what was it he said about me, Peter? Strongest there is?"

"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are," Tony warned him, but his clear good humor was still very present in his eyes, "Besides, it's past the Peter parrot's bedtime—"

"I'm not a parrot!" Peter protested loudly, still wiggling away from Tony, who tickled him anytime he got close enough.

"That's right, you're not just any parrot," Tony agreed seriously, "You're the  _prince_ parrot."

"I'm a prince  _boy!"_  Peter informed him indignantly.

"Are you certain? You've got those big old eyes, you're very colorful, you make loud squawking noises when I do this—"

"Dad!" Peter yelped, swatting Tony's hands away, "Quit  _ticklin'_ me!"

"Get in bed and shut your beak, and maybe I will," Tony challenged him.

Peter scampered along a little quicker, up into Tony's bed to burrow under the covers until only his feet were visible. Steve pressed a finger to his lips at Tony, then signaled for him to move to the end of the bed. Tony, curious but compliant, did as Steve gestured. Steve tickled Peter's bare feet and the boy shot forward under the covers, only for Tony to pop his head under them and announce, "Boo!"

Peter shrieked and startled backwards, tangling himself up. Tony laughed so hard he could hardly stand straight, grabbing the bedframe to hold himself steady. Steve went after Peter, maneuvering his hands through the sheets until he found an arm—or leg?—and tugged. Peter rolled out, pout in full force.

"That was  _mean,"_ he announced, but was clearly holding back giggles.

"If we're so mean, you probably don't want us to read you a story." Steve tried his best to hold back a laugh at the horrified look on Peter's face.

"Of course." Tony nodded sagely. "We'll go in the other room, leave you to try and sleep on your own—"

"No!" Peter shot across the bed, grabbing Steve, the nearest to him. "Don't go, please?"

"We're not going anywhere, squirt." Tony dropped the joke and joined Peter on the bed, pressing a quick kiss to his still-damp hair. "Just teasing you a little. Go get two books, then set the shelf back the way it belongs."

"Got it!" Peter agreed eagerly, scooting off the bed.

There was a brief moment where Steve stood awkwardly beside the bed. This wasn't the same bed, of course—not unless Tony had brought it with him when he'd moved chambers for whatever reason—but joining Tony on it still gave him pause. They were only going to read to Peter for a bit, entirely innocent, then Steve was going to leave and sleep elsewhere. Still, it still felt…disrespectful, almost, casually intimate in a way Steve no longer had the right to be.

"Steve." He glanced up. Tony was smiling, soft and private, like he used to. "I ever tell you that you think too much?"

"Only a thousand times. I ever tell you what that makes you?"

"The word 'hypocrite' might've been mentioned once or twice." Tony's smile turned wry, and he patted the bed. "Come on, then."

Steve joined him, careful not to sit as close as he wanted and make Tony uncomfortable, or to leave too much space between them and make it awkward. His careful positioning went to hell, however, when Tony just scooted closer and dropped his head against Steve's shoulder.

"I got 'em!" Peter crowed, squeezing back through the bookshelf passage and shutting it. Tony didn't move his head. Steve willed his heart to human speeds. Peter didn't seem to care in the slightest about his father's choice in headrest though, already tossing his books onto the bed and following after. He paused in crawling over Steve's lap to press his head up against Steve's chest. "Wow!"

Steve tried his best to focus on Peter instead of how warm Tony felt against him, how his hair was longer now but still very soft against his cheek and— "What?"

"Your heartbeat's really fast," Peter told him, still with an ear to his chest, "I can hear it going bumpabumpabumpa—"

"Yep, got it, thanks," Steve interrupted, embarrassed.

"How fast exactly, Peter?" Tony grinned next to him, and that didn't help at all because Tony had a wonderful grin, even when he was shamelessly using his child to torture Steve.

"No need to elaborate, I'm—" Steve started, but Peter answered anyway.

"Like a rabbit heart." Peter peered up at him, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"My heart—" His traitorous, dastardly heart— "—just does that sometimes, Peter, it's fine."

"Promise?" Peter looked worried now. Steve felt awful.

"I promise. I'm perfectly fine," he assured, allowing himself a little glance Tony's way, "Better than ever."

"What if it's 'cause of the poison?"

"Believe me, it's not." Steve stroked a hand through Peter's hair like he'd seen Tony do. It seemed to work; Peter relaxed a little. "I'm very, very used to it."

"Alright," Peter acquiesced, giving up the interrogation and starting to wiggle his way between them.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Tony hoisted Peter out from between them, settling him in his lap instead.

"But I wanna sit next to you and Steve  _both_ —" Peter started to complain.

"Then Steve can lean in real close," Tony told him with finality, closing the space to rest against Steve once again, "I'm tired and sore and I finally got comfortable, you're not stealing my spot."

Steve knew he was smiling like a loon and that Tony knew it too, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He leaned in close like Tony had helpfully suggested and offered Peter his hand. "Next time you can sit my lap, how about that? We'll swap off."

"Fine." Peter accepted Steve's hand, squeezing it tightly. He tugged Steve's arm across himself like a blanket, then used his free hand to pass the first book to Tony. "Start with this one."

"Start with this one…" Tony raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

"Please," Peter complied easily. He was already starting to relax a little, his eyes drooping a bit as he got comfortable.

"Sir Gregg and the Terrible Hydra." Tony glanced at the cover. "Been a while since we read this one."

"Mhm," Peter agreed sleepily, curling in a little closer and propping his arms up over Steve's as Tony opened the book and began to read.

Tony had always had a good reading voice, strong and steady. Steve himself was starting to doze a bit by the time Tony stopped, and for a moment he wasn't certain why Tony had dropped off mid-sentence. Then he saw Peter, already out like a light and drooling on Tony's shirt. Steve was able to disentangle himself much easier than Tony—Peter only had his arm, and didn't so much as bat an eye when Steve slipped it from his grasp—so Tony passed the books to him to put away. Steve shook his head a little as he stood, trying to clear the fog of drowsiness from his system. He went to replace the books, or at least put them somewhere on the shelf, since there seemed to be no discernable order to it. When he turned back, Tony was easing Peter under the covers.

He watched as Tony bent to brush Peter's hair back and lay a kiss on his forehead, the very picture of a doting father. Something in Steve spiked, a flare of longing so sharp and fierce he ached with it. The moment passed and he willed it down. Tony stood, eyeing him for a moment before moving to the nightstand and putting out the light.

Was that his dismissal? Steve wasn't certain. It was too dark to see Tony anymore, but he was close enough that he could reach the bookshelf. He felt along the bottom shelf, sought out the thickest book with his fingertips and gave a tug. The bookshelf moved, light from the other room spilling in and lighting up Tony, who just smiled at him mysteriously and went into Peter's room. What else could Steve do but follow?

"Heartbeat like a rabbit's, huh?" was the first thing Tony said to him, all teasing smiles and kind eyes. It was so familiar it hurt. "Guess I still got it after all."

Steve crossed to him in two short steps, had him in his arms before he'd even taken a breath, was kissing him on the next. He just—he  _wanted,_ wanted Tony and Peter and stories before bed and adventures out together and everything else this wonderful, incredible life he'd thrown away had to offer. He thought back to the hundreds of millions of moments he'd wanted desperately to come home, to give up, to run back to Tony and beg his forgiveness. It should've been sooner. It should've never happened at all but Tony was here anyway, was holding him close and kissing him back like Steve had never so much as dreamed he might again and that was—it felt—

"Steve." Tony hadn't gone far, just enough to speak. Steve ran a hand through Tony's hair, thumbing at the stubborn curl that, after all this time, still didn't seem to quite want to fall into place. Tony held his wrist gently. "Beloved. Look at me."

"Why would I ever want to look at anything else?" Steve murmured, dropping his hand to Tony's face.

Tony's eyes had the beginnings of laugh lines around the edges. He shouldn't have those, Steve thought idly. He was too young for it, except…well, he wasn't, not really. God, they were almost thirty. Nearly three decades, and Steve's world still revolved around Tony like it had since he'd been just five years old, grabbed by the hand and told to run. Three decades and here they were. Trying.

And then he was laughing. Giggling, really, giggling hysterically and clasping Tony's face a little tighter and kissing him because they were older and they were broken but they were here and they were  _trying,_ God, they were trying, and that was so much more than Steve ever could have asked for. The revelation had him far too giddy not to smile like a fool, not to laugh or giggle or whatever it was he was doing, but it was alright because Tony was laughing too, laughing and laughing and  _laughing_ until neither of them could catch a full breath. They'd barely moved away at all, still bumping noses and staring into each other's eyes, still close enough Steve could feel the gust of Tony's laugh on his lips and see each of his eyelashes and the way his laugh lines crinkled up a little more every time he met Steve's eyes. Steve kissed him on the tail-end of a laugh, messy and inelegant and God, he'd never wanted to hold onto a moment more in all his life.

"I love you so much, Tony," Steve told him. It wasn't enough, it never had been, but it'd have to do until he could find a way to paint it in the stars.

"I love you too." Tony caressed a hand over his cheek. "The way you act, I think you forget that."

"I could never forget." Steve kissed him again, held it a long moment before giving in to the need for air. "I only pray you never come to your senses."

"I have come to my senses." Tony smiled, the private one Steve knew was only for him. "I've got you in my arms again, haven't I?"

"For as long as you'll have me," Steve swore ardently, arms going a little tighter around Tony's waist. Something seemed to occur to Tony, who dropped his gaze between them. "What is it?"

"The letter."

"Did you read it?"

"No. I decided…I'd like you to read it to me." Tony stepped back from Steve enough to reach into the inner pocket of his shirt. "You wrote it, after all. Might as well hear you explain yourself in your own voice."

"Alright." Steve nodded. He hadn't anticipated doing so, didn't particularly relish the thought of reading his horribly flawed plan out loud, but if Tony wanted him to he wouldn't hesitate. Tony moved from his inner pocket to the others, patting himself down with increased urgency. "Do you not have it on you?"

"No, I know that I did, I didn't let the damned thing out my— _Christ_ , not again." Tony turned his pockets inside out now. "Fuck!"

"Tony—"

"Just give me a minute," Tony snapped, a little sharp. It was just the panic, no real anger. "It was in this pocket, I  _know_ it was—"

"I can recite it, if that's what's worrying you."

Tony paused, stared at him. "You can?"

"Those were my last words to you, or at least so I thought; you don't think I didn't run them over in my head a hundred, a  _thousand_ times?" Steve couldn't help a bit of a smile. "You know how I get."

"I do." Tony's tension seemed to ease a little, though not much. "But if I don't have it, that still leaves the question of who does."

"There's not much in it they don't already know," Steve admitted, "Or haven't guessed, at least, no matter who they are. It'd be more confirmation than incrimination, at this point."

"I suppose we can go about finding it tomorrow, then." Tony rubbed his forehead, still seeming agitated. "Unless it's lost in the forest somewhere, or—"

"My dearest Anthony," Steve quoted. Tony fell silent immediately. The tension bled out of him a little more, though Steve knew it wouldn't last; he was hardly going to like what the letter said, they'd been over that much. "First and foremost, I apologize. I failed you. It has—"

"You did  _not_ fail—" Tony started, riled as Steve had known he'd be.

"Tony," Steve interrupted, trying not to laugh again as he pulled Tony back into his arms, "You can't argue with a letter I wrote ten years ago."

Tony muttered something that sounded an awful lot like  _I can try_ into his shoulder before giving a little sigh. "Go on."

"It has become clear to me that I can't protect you as I am, and you deserve more than I can provide. Much though I love you, you have to do what's right for your kingdom. You'll marry someone else one day, and if you treat her with half much love as you did me, she'll be the luckiest woman alive."

"Like I could ever love someone half as much as I love you." Tony hugged him closer, pressed a kiss to his neck.

"No arguing," Steve reminded him, but the smile was already blooming on his face. "If I'm to have a place in your future, it'll be as your manservant and guardian; I can't be that to you if I can't protect you. I wish many things, but most of all I wish to stay by your side. Unfortunately, to do so, I must leave it for a time."

Tony gave a tiny snort, likely at his idea of 'a time' being near to ten years. Steve squeezed his arm for silence.

"I'm leaving to train, to become as strong as you need me to be. When I can protect you as you deserve, I'll return to you. This I promise. I love you with all that I am. Steven Grant Rogers."

"You're just as big an idiot as I suspected. Anthony Edward Stark." Tony was trying to be smart, but he was sagging a little against Steve's shoulder even as he spoke.

For all that they'd been 'asleep' for days, Steve still felt drained. Emotionally, in the beginning, then as his brush with death and the high that Tony still loved him wore down—not much, but enough that he could think straight again—physically. He was sore everywhere, unused to movement and even less used to standing, holding someone up. If Tony felt that same, it was no wonder he was slumping against Steve.

"Get some sleep." Steve kissed the top of his head. It was strange how easy it was now that he was taller than Tony; he never could've managed it when they were young, not standing. "We'll hunt down the letter tomorrow."

Tony nodded, holding onto him a moment longer before reluctantly stepping away. It took all of Steve's willpower not to pull him back. "Tomorrow. Goodnight, Steve."

Steve gave in, caught his arm and leaned in to steal one last, chaste kiss. "Goodnight, Tony. I love you."

"I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing you say that." A tired smile played on Tony's lips. "I love you too, beloved. Sleep well."

"Sleep well," Steve echoed.


	13. Chapter 13

It took Loki two weeks to make his move.

They were able to postpone talks of funeral rites, thankfully; not only could they not produce bodies, obviously, but Peter never would've managed believable grief in public for an entire ceremony. After the first week passed with no signs of movement on Loki's end, however, they had Peter resume leaving his chambers for meals and lessons to show that he was "improving". He only ever ate with the knights anyway, and Tony trusted Peter's tutor enough to bring him in on the secret.

A side effect of Peter easing back into his usual schedule, however, was that Steve and Tony were left alone for increasingly large portions of the day.

It was awkward at first, undoubtedly. Steve was still tiptoeing around him, still cautious and careful and always waiting for Tony to pull away. He didn't like Steve's hesitance, but he understood it; he'd been angry, at first. He'd obviously had every right to be, but the longer they stayed cooped up together the more they reconnected and the more Tony felt it fading away. He would never agree with the decision Steve had made and he would never forget how those years had felt, but his ability to forgive it grew with every moment.

They spent a large majority of the time just trading stories from the decade they'd missed, relearning the minutiae of each other's lives. Tony heard all about Bucky and Sam, the people he apparently owed many a thank you to for keeping Steve's ever-headstrong self alive. Tony's stories revolved mostly around Peter, but Peter was by far the most interesting thing that had happened to him in those years and Steve didn't seem to mind. If anything, Steve was enraptured; he adored Peter, that much was obvious, and if you asked Peter, Steve all but hung the moon in the sky. It was good to see, even if it made Tony near dizzy with hope for future.

There were times they ignored words altogether, times Tony just wanted to hold and be held and if that was a little sappy, so be it. He called Steve  _beloved_ every chance he got just to see the brilliant smile it earned him, treasured the hitch in Steve's breathing and the race of his pulse anytime Tony so much as brushed fingers with him. It was different than before, when they'd both been far more assured of themselves and their reception, but touchingly sweet nonetheless. It would never be the same, true, but it wasn't bad. Wasn't even worse, not really. He had Steve and he had Peter and if it'd taken them all longer to come together than Tony would've liked, well, dwelling on the past wouldn't do anything to change it. He was happy with this. It was hard not to be, with Steve at his side again. They were in a good place; spending all their time together would've been a disaster even just a week prior. Now…

"You still have this?" Steve plucked one of the books off the shelf, waved it at him.

Tony glanced over. "Sure. Peter loves it."

"What seven year old doesn't like marauder stories?" Steve smiled as he flipped through the colorful book.

"Or ten year old." Tony chuckled, leaning back to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I learned fast enough once I finally got a book in my hand." Steve smirked at him. "We can't all have private tutors and fancy libraries."

Tony did his best to play at being offended. "And here I thought I made a fantastic tutor."

"You were impatient and distracting." Steve laughed. "But you provided me with plenty of practice material, I'll give you that."

"It was good for the both of us," Tony admitted, "My father thought the dozens of books I snuck out of there meant I was finally taking my studies seriously."

"As if you've ever taken anything seriously." Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

"Now that's just insulting. I'm a deeply serious person. I'm all about rules and regulations, formalities abound—"

"Your knights still call you 'Tones'." Steve grinned.

"Just Rhodey." Tony smirked. "And if you think that's informal, I've got another knight that keeps calling me 'sweetheart', perhaps I should get him under control?"

Steve colored a little, still grinning. "I didn't say there was anything wrong with…nicknames. You've just always had a rather different style about you, that's all."

"No, nothing wrong with 'nicknames', not when said with the utmost of affection." Tony met Steve's eyes purposefully with a smile. "Beloved."

"Use that enough times and one of these days I'm going to stop being quite so weak for it." Steve replaced the book on the shelf, already moving to Tony's side even as he spoke.

"I doubt that very much." Tony got a hand on his waist the moment Steve was close enough. "And I think you like my rather different style. In fact, I daresay you love it."

"I love everything about you." Steve bent forward a little, cupping the back of Tony's neck and meeting him halfway for a kiss. "Even when you let your knights get away with every informality under the sun. Perhaps especially."

"Says the knight kissing his king," Tony teased. Steve flinched a little at the reminder of status; Tony hadn't meant it like that, and he didn't like the reaction at all. Before Steve could open his mouth to counter, Tony quickly added, "But don't think of it like that. It's just you and me."

"You and me, a king and a knight," Steve pointed out.

"Once a prince and a manservant. Somewhat more illicit then, actually," Tony countered, "You've rather stepped up in the world, as I believe was your goal. Not that I wouldn't still be with you if you'd stayed as you were."

"What do you imagine the others think of it all?" Steve asked. Tony couldn't help a laugh.

"Rhodey's told me in so many words that the consensus seems to be 'finally'. I can't say I disagree." Tony stroked a hand up Steve's back, partially to soothe and partially just to feel him, draw him closer. "My knights are good people, Steve, you know that. They're not the kind to care about noble blood. How can they, when more than half of them don't have so much as a drop of it? Carnies and bandits and bastards, they've all acted outside their given stations in life, and our well-guarded kingdom is certainly grateful for it. No one among them would begrudge either of us happiness over something so petty."

"I suppose not." Steve was smiling so widely now he hardly looked like he could contain it.

"What did I say?"

Steve kissed him instead of answering. It was more intense than Tony was expecting, but he welcomed the urge and opened his mouth eagerly at the first pass of Steve's tongue. He didn't get an answer for a long time; it wasn't until he'd nearly forgotten he'd even asked a question that Steve parted from him. He caressed a hand over Tony's cheek, met his gaze with that same wide smile and thrilled look to his eyes.

"You're really happy?"

Tony blinked, admittedly surprised. "You hadn't gathered that?"

"I didn't think you were unhappy…but I know this isn't how you wanted it all to go."

"I wanted you." Tony kissed him, soft and slow. "That's all that ever really mattered. Maybe it didn't happen the way I would've wanted, but since when does life bend to my whims, or anyone's? You're here now. That's more than enough to make me happy."

"I love you." Steve drew him in close, pressed kisses along his temple. "I don't deserve you, but if it makes you happy I swear I'll—"

"Steve." Tony tilted his head away, just enough to catch Steve's eyes again. "Enough with that, alright? I forgive—"

Steve interrupted him immediately. "Don't say that, I don't deserve—"

"You do." Tony shook his head firmly. "I forgive you, because you deserve to be forgiven. You were young. You made a mistake. It was horrifically stupid, but it was a mistake and you recognize that now. Don't you?"

"Of course I do." Steve drew him close. "Had I known…"

"You didn't." Tony leaned into his touch, turned enough to press a kiss to his palm. He paused for a moment as Steve's words sunk in. He didn't pull away, but he did stop leaning in. "What if there was nothing to know?"

"What do you mean?" Steve's brow furrowed in confusion.

"If Mary and Richard had never passed, if Peter had never come under my care…" He didn't want to ask. They'd made up a lot of ground and he didn't want to lose that, didn't want to let what-ifs and mythical scenarios set them back, but…could Steve really have just walked away again? If he could, how was Tony supposed to live with that? With knowing the only reason Steve was here was because they had an easy out, that if things were different and difficult he would've bailed again—

"Never." Steve moved forward, pulling Tony back into his arms—he hadn't even realized he'd been leaning away—and kissing him once, twice, three times before shifting back just enough to lock eyes with Tony determinedly and repeat himself. "Never. I would never have been able to do that twice, not if you'd been alone, not if you'd had a wife, not as you were. I took one look at you and I knew I'd made a mistake. I didn't want to admit it to myself then, you know how much I hate to admit when I'm wrong, but I was and I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you."

Tony ducked his head, pressed his face against Steve's shoulder and absorbed the words, the relief he felt to be able to believe them. Steve meant every word of it, he knew that much from the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. If there was one thing he'd never doubted, it was his ability to read Steve's intentions. Still…

"Peter presents a solution," Tony said after a beat, "The one stroke of luck I think we've ever gotten. But tell me…tell me if we hadn't had that stroke, that even if we'd had all the odds in the damn universe stacked against us—"

"I'd still be here, sweetheart," Steve promised softly, running both hands over Tony's back, "We were always going to wind up here, heir or no heir. I know that now. I only wish I'd known it then. I love you, Tony. I love you with all that I am and every stroke of bad luck in the universe couldn't change that."

"And I you," Tony murmured in return, pressing the words into Steve's neck with a kiss. "I love you, Steve. I love you and I forgive you and I don't want to keep…dwelling, on this. I've always liked us better as equals, even when you were just some mouthy little brat who had no compunctions about telling your prince to 'quit being a fathead'. Not that I was ever quite sure what exactly that meant."

"I had the vocabulary of an illiterate servant's boy." The smile was back and brighter than ever on Steve's lips. "I hadn't yet learned the word 'arrogant'. Or 'egotistical'. Or—"

"I think you've managed to paint the picture." Tony leaned back a little to give Steve an amused look.

"Or," Steve continued anyway, leaning closer again and running a hand through Tony's hair, "How wrong you would prove me."

"Don't fool yourself, beloved." Tony tipped his head up for just a quick peck, more a tease than an actual kiss. "I only ever learned to stop being such a 'fathead' because I had you around to call me on it."

"Glad I could be of some use to you, then," Steve teased.

"Aside from giving me all your love and affection, you mean?" Tony gave a wry smile.

"Aside from that." Steve leaned back in and pulled Tony closer by the hips.

He didn't quite kiss him, just bumped his nose and touched their foreheads together, met his eyes with a soft smile. Tony returned it and for a moment they stayed just like that, watching each other and breathing in time and for all that it was ludicrously sappy of him, Tony would've sworn he could feel Steve's heartbeat as clearly as he could his own.

He stroked a hand up over the back of Steve's neck, ran his fingers through the ever so slightly curled ends. Steve's hair was getting longer. He'd probably cut it soon, he'd never been able to stand having long hair. Tony raised his other hand and stroked a thumb over Steve's cheek, up his jaw, before tugging him along. Steve closed his eyes, prepared for a kiss, but Tony moved as well. He scooted back and laid down, pulling Steve along with him. Steve's eyes flickered back open, cautious and careful, but Tony pressed a small kiss just under his ear the way he always used to and kept running his fingers reassuringly over the nape of Steve's neck. Any tension bled from Steve at the two intimately familiar gestures of comfort, and he followed Tony's lead onto the bed without further pause.

He got a knee on either side of Tony's lap and bent forward to kiss him softly. There was a brief moment of unhurried tenderness, but it was derailed when Tony angled his hips up to rub them together for a bit of friction. The sound Steve made into his mouth could be called nothing short of desperate. Tony arched up a little more to do it again, slid his arms down to wrap around Steve's waist and press them closer.

"Tony." Steve inhaled sharply, a worried sort of anxiety leaking back into his features. "God, Tony, if you don't intend—"

"Relax." Tony couldn't help a grin. It'd been a goddamn decade since he'd been able to say this: "Let's."

Steve's eyes lit up immediately, a brilliant smile following just as quick. "Yeah?"

Tony kissed him, because he'd never been able to do anything else when Steve smiled at him like that. "Hell yeah."

* * *

Peter was confused.

He wanted to ask Steve himself, or Daddy, but since that wasn't an option he ducked out of Daddy's chambers and set off in search of Steve's friends, Bucky and Sam, instead. He asked around and Happy pointed him in the direction of the front gates, where they were on gate duty today. He couldn't walk through the gates, Daddy had warned the guards a hundred times not to let Peter talk them into letting him out alone, so he climbed over instead. When he was atop the wall and could see them, he called out.

"Bucky! Sam!"

"What the—?" They both spun and began to draw their swords, until they caught sight of him. "Peter?"

"Hey!" He grinned at them, starting to shimmy down. "You guys're Steve's best friends, right?"

"Sure." Bucky squinted up the wall. "But what are you doing climbing the walls like that? If you fell your dad would ream us just for seeing it."

"I do it all the time, it's fine, I'm really good." Peter casually tugged the hem of his pants down a little so they wouldn't see where he'd scraped himself.

"Does your dad know you do it all the time?" Sam eyed him.

"Sorta," Peter fibbed, fidgeting a little.

"It's not safe for you to hang around outside the castle walls alone, Peter." Bucky pointed out. "Your dad would be pissed if—"

"Angry," Sam shot Bucky a look, like Peter hadn't already heard Daddy and Rhodey and Clint say that and more a hundred times.

"Angry," Bucky corrected himself with a roll of his eyes, "If he knew you were out here unprotected."

"I'm not unprotected," Peter insisted. He dropped to the ground at last, brushed himself off. "I got you. And it's not like I'm gonna go any further, I just have t'ask you about somethin'."

Sam gave in first. "What did you have to ask?"

"How come Steve'll sleep with Daddy but not with me?" Peter demanded. Both men's eyebrows shot up and they exchanged a glance.

"What exactly did Steve say to you, Peter?" Sam asked after a moment.

"He didn't have to say anything." Peter frowned. "I came back from lessons today and they were sleeping together in Daddy's chambers. So how come Steve'll sleep there so long as I'm not there? Does he not like me anymore? Did I do something bad? And how come they're sleeping in the middle of the day anyway? Why is—"

"Okay, okay, just…slow down a second." Bucky held up both hands. "You did nothing wrong, kid, I promise. Steve adores you, it's nothing personal. They just…well, it's sort of…the thing is—"

"The three of you probably wouldn't fit," Sam interjected.

"Exactly," Bucky agreed quickly.

"That's not true." Peter disagreed. "Daddy's bed is huge, and they were only even using one side of it."

"Well…" Bucky shuffled a little. "Maybe they didn't know it was big enough, before."

"So  _now_  we can have a proper sleepover?" Peter brightened.

"That's a question for your p—people." Bucky stammered a little. His eyes went wide, like he'd surprised himself, before he finished with, "Uh. Yeah. People."

Sam was shooting Bucky weird looks now. Peter frowned up at him. "What d'you mean, 'people'?"

"It's—well, you know, people, as in…" Bucky scratched the back of his head.

"As in the people you should ask." Sam filled in. "So, Steve. And your dad."

"And definitely not us," Bucky clarified.

"It's kind of a father-son conversation." Sam squeezed his shoulder.

"Definitely." Bucky nodded.

Peter sighed. They weren't going to help him, then. He turned about with a bit of a huff, got his footing on the wall and started climbing back up with a mutter of, "Fine, don't help me. Some uncles you are."

"Hey!" Bucky tugged on his ankle. "You're a rude little thing, you know that?"

"Been told." Peter stuck his chin up, kicked Bucky's hand away. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"Do you know what an uncle actually is?" Sam looked at him curiously.

"Duh," Peter lied.

"What's an uncle?"

"Like…" Peter hazarded a guess. "A really older brother?"

"We're not  _that_  old." Bucky flicked him.

"And that's not quite right, anyway." Sam chuckled. "An uncle is the brother of a parent."

That didn't make any sense. Peter dropped back down to the ground to ask, "Then how come you keep sayin' I can call you uncles? You're not related to Daddy."

"We're pretty close to Steve, though." Bucky ruffled his hair. "Like brothers."

Peter considered that. "But Steve's not my parent."

"Suppose not." Sam nodded agreeably. "But most people have two parents."

"I used to." He couldn't remember it, but Daddy had told him about it. That he'd once had a mother and father that had made him, and that after they'd died he'd gotten the father he had now, the one that took care of him. "But Daddy says I've got him and he's got me and that's all we need."

"Well." Bucky exchanged a glance with Sam. "I'm sure you don't  _need_ anyone else. But you like having Steve around, don't you?"

"Of course! He's funny and he's patient and he teaches me all sorts of stuff, like what to do if someone's bigger'n you in a fight, and where to find const'lations in the sky, and how to do a voice he says will always get Daddy to laugh no matter how mad he is. Steve's the  _best,"_ Peter enthused. He paused a moment, a thought occurring to him. "Wait, are you sayin' _he_  could be my other parent?"

Bucky and Sam exchanged a glance. He really wished they'd stop doing that, he wasn't stupid, he knew it meant they weren't telling him something.

"Well…" Bucky hedged.

"Fine." Peter got a handhold on the wall and swung up. "I'll ask him myself."

"No!" They both blurted at once. Bucky lunged forward, snagged him by the waist before he could even get a foot on the wall. "Whoa there, buddy, let's talk this through for a second."

"You can't ask someone to be your parent, it doesn't work like that," Sam explained.

"Why not?" Peter frowned. Seemed pretty simple to him. Steve would totally say yes, Steve liked him, Steve read to him and played with him and had promised to take him on a hundred new adventures when they could show their faces in public again.

"It's up to Steve and your dad, you can't ask him to be your parent, your dad has to ask him to marry him, or the other way around—"

"So I'll ask Daddy to marry him," Peter reasoned.

" _No,"_ they repeated immediately, eyes wide.

"God." Sam rubbed a hand over his face, narrowed his eyes at Bucky over Peter's shoulder. "They're going to kill us."

"Not if he doesn't say anything," Bucky hissed. He jostled Peter, bouncing him a bit like he was trying to keep him calm. "Because you won't, right, pal?"

"Why not?" Peter insisted. What were they being so weird about? Why wouldn't Steve want to be his other parent?

"Because you can't just…" Bucky finally put him down, then crouched on one knee to speak to him. "That's something they need to figure out for themselves. It's not about you."

"Of course it's about me," Peter disagreed, "He's gonna be my other parent."

"Maybe," Sam stressed.

"Most likely," Bucky assured, patting his shoulder.

"Probably," Sam admitted, "But it's also about them. Mostly about them."

He definitely didn't like the sound of that. "But what about me?"

"They both adore you, that's the easy part." Bucky smirked, ruffling Peter's hair again. "But there's a lot of history between them they've still got to work out."

"So I can't say anything?"

"Definitely not."

"I just have to wait?" Peter frowned. "But what if they take too long and I grow up?"

Bucky laughed. "Peter, I promise you will not grow up before those two get married."

"Don't promise that," Sam hissed, "It took Steve ten years just to—"

"I can't wait another ten years!" Peter blurted, dismayed at the thought. "I'll be old!"

"Well, technically, you'll still be a kid," Bucky pointed out, "Seventeen's not really all that old—"

"They aren't gonna get married until I'm  _seventeen?"_ Peter exclaimed, horrified.

"No, no no no," Bucky rushed to say, "I'm sure they'll get married long before—"

"Stop promising him things!" Sam insisted, "They're idiots, remember?"

"Oh come on, they're sleeping together again, hell, I'm sure one of them blurted it out anyway and they're already engaged and this whole conversation will be pointless—"

"What's engaged?" Peter interrupted.

"Engaged to be married," Sam explained, "It means to promise someone that you'll marry them."

"So they're engaged?" Peter asked.

"I really hate you sometimes." Sam glared at Bucky.

"Shut up." Bucky shoved him, then bent back down to talk on Peter's level again. "Look, buddy: thing is, Steve and your dad have been pretty much engaged since before you were born—"

"Don't  _tell_ him that!" Sam interrupted, shoving Bucky to the side. "That's not true, Peter, don't repeat that—"

"It's  _basically_ true—" Bucky insisted.

"Except for the part where it's  _not_ — _"_

"Tony asked—"

"And Steve said—"

"He said in another situation he would accept Tony's hand in a heartbeat, this is that other situation!"

"I'm concerned about the fact that you don't seem to recognize that that's not actually a yes."

"What?" Bucky scoffed. "Like Steve would say no if Tony so much as hinted again?"

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean Tony's going to ask—"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot about his crush on the baker's girl," Bucky said in a weird, funny voice. Peter giggled. "Bullshit he won't ask."

"I'm not saying he  _shouldn't_ ask," Sam insisted, "I'm saying that when you put those two in a room together they get weird and complicated and unpredictable, and I wouldn't bet on anything."

"I'm with Peter, they get a month then I'm stealing the ring out of Steve's stuff and giving it Tony myself."

"I don't want you to be my other daddy." Peter frowned. "I want Steve."

"Have I mentioned that you're rude?" Bucky scowled down at him, while Sam cracked up. "Because you're really rude. I would be the best dad you ever had, you little ingrate."

"No you wouldn't." Peter stuck his tongue out. Then, he glanced at Sam and whispered, "What's an ingrate?"

"Someone who's ungrateful," Sam whispered back with a chuckle, "Not you."

"I am not an ingrate," Peter declared to Bucky loudly, "But  _you're_ a buttface."

Sam laughed so hard he had to grab the wall to keep himself upright. Bucky gaped at him. "I'm a  _what?"_

"A buttface." Peter held his chin up imperially. "Sir Bucky Buttface."

Sam  _howled_ with laughter.

"I'm gonna be your uncle soon you little pri—"

"Bucky!" Sam warned between gasps of laughter.

"Little… _prince."_ Bucky's voice made it very clear prince was not at all the word he wanted to use. Peter ran through other 'pri—' sounding words he knew in his head. Pretty? Private? Prickly? "Where's the respect, huh?"

"Daddy said  _you're_ supposed to respect  _me."_ Daddy had also told him that if Peter wanted to be treated with true respect he had treat others with respect first, but Peter decided to leave that part out for the moment.

"Forget it, then." Bucky crossed his arms with a cavalier shrug. "I don't think I want to help you make Steve your second parent after all."

"Aw, come on," Peter relented, tugging on Bucky's pant leg, "You have to!"

"What happened to not needing anyone else, huh?"

"I don't  _need_ him," Peter admitted, "But I want him. He's the best, he's gonna take me on adventures and teach me more stuff and I'll even share Daddy with him if he wants—"

"Don't think you'll have much of a choice with that one." Sam snorted.

"It'll be  _great,"_ Peter insisted, "Come on, you gotta help me. Make Steve propose!"

"Who do you think got him back here in the first place?" Bucky huffed. "We're trying, kid, believe me."

"If you're gonna be my uncles, you gotta help me out with this kind of stuff," Peter reasoned. He wasn't entirely sure if that's what uncles were supposed to do, but he'd been reliably informed that was what big brothers were supposed to do and the concept seemed similar. "Help me get 'em married."

Bucky and Sam exchanged yet another look.

"Bucky…" Sam warned. Bucky just grinned, squatted down to ruffle Peter's hair.

"Deal." When Sam glared at him and opened his mouth, Bucky quickly continued, " _But_ if we're going to be partners in crime, you have to learn to keep that mouth of yours shut."

"I can keep a secret." Peter scowled mutinously.

"That means no telling Steve or your dad about anything we just talked about," Bucky insisted, "Engagements, marriage, Steve becoming your other parent, none of it."

"But how're we gonna get 'em together then?" Peter frowned, not understanding.

"Subtly," Bucky told him with a wink.

"What's 'suttuly'?"

"Subtly," Sam corrected with a sigh, seeming to decide he might as well get on board, "It means secretly. Doing things without letting people know what you're up to."

"So they won't know it's us getting 'em married," Peter reasoned.

"More like so your dad won't throw us off the highest tower for telling you all this," Bucky said, until Sam kicked his shin, "I mean, yes, so they won't know we're getting them married."

"So what do we do to be subtly?" Peter asked.

"To be subtle, we need a plan." Bucky looked at Sam.

"Don't look at me, this was your awful idea."

"Sorry, did  _you_  have a better way of keeping him from blabbing?"

"I don't blab." Peter frowned, insulted. "I'm just very good at sharing information."

"Sure." Bucky patted him on the head. Sam sighed.

"Okay, you want a plan, here's a plan: turn up the adorable factor," Sam instructed, "Pull out your best puppy dog eyes, hug Steve every chance you get, tell him and your dad all that stuff you said about him being the greatest. They'll melt for all that sappy, potential-family goodness like ice in July."

"I can do that." Peter bounced excitedly. He already hugged Steve a lot, and he'd already told Daddy about a hundred times this week how great it was to have Steve around so much. He'd already asked if Steve could live in Peter's room forever and Peter could move in with Daddy, but Daddy had just made a weird face and said that maybe they could 'come to some other arrangement', whatever that meant. "What're you guys gonna do?"

"We're gonna get Steve off his a—"

"Butt," Sam interrupted.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but finished with, "Off his  _butt_ and into the game."

Peter didn't get it. "What game? And he's not on his butt, he's on his stomach. Well, on Daddy, mostly. But on his stomach on Daddy."

Both knights froze. "Uh. What?"

"He was sleeping with Daddy when I went in, all lying on top'a him and stuff," Peter explained slowly. Hadn't he already told them that? What were they looking at him like that for? "I told you that."

"You did, sort of, but, uh." Sam cleared his throat. "Sleeping? They were…definitely sleeping?"

"Steve snores really loud," Peter confirmed.

"Good." Sam looked weirdly relieved. "He does, you're right."

"How about you go find and play with your little pal Harry, huh?" Bucky suggested, "We'll stay here and come up with more ideas."

"Oh." Peter frowned at being dismissed, then brightened a little. "Can I at least tell Harry that Steve's gonna be my other parent?"

"No," they both blurted at once.

"Can I tell MJ?"

"No—"

"Gwen?"

"Peter, I don't really think you're grasping the concept." Bucky rubbed hand over his face. "Telling no one means telling  _no one,_ okay? You don't want to ruin it for them, do you?"

"No," Peter agreed, though he still wasn't sure how exactly his telling Harry about it would ruin it for Daddy and Steve. They didn't even know they were getting married yet. "I guess not."

"Then you need to keep your lips zipped, got it?" Sam made a mouth-zipping gesture. Peter giggled at the rhyme, then mimicked the motion.

"Got it. You won't hear another word outta me. Not about anything, not to anyone." Peter paused. "Except Rhodey. I can tell Rhodey, right?"

Bucky and Sam groaned.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve woke to a booming explosion and the sound of alarm bells.

Tony startled next to him, jerking awake as well. They exchanged bleary, confused looks before rolling out of bed, trying to find their clothes and, somewhat more importantly, their weapons. Steve found himself distracted by memories of where they'd left off; it took him a solid few minutes to realize he'd been staring at his boots instead of putting them on. Tony seemed equally dazed, though Steve couldn't be sure if his thoughts were running the same track or if he was worried about the explosion. The responsible, sane answer would be that he was concerned about the explosion, of course, this was his kingdom and—

Tony tossed his shirt down in a huff and crossed to Steve, grabbed him by the belt and pulled him back into his arms for a deep, demanding kiss.

Definitely the same thoughts, then.

"Peter can sleep in his own damn bed," Tony informed him breathlessly.

Despite the rush of hope, Steve couldn't help asking, "Are you su—?"

Tony kissed him silent. He'd always been fond of doing that. Steve responded enthusiastically, at least until Bucky's voice brought him down from cloud nine.

"Christ. Don't look, kid, you don't need to see that."

" _I_ didn't need to see that," Sam muttered.

"There's something that prevents these situations, it's called knocking," Tony retorted, but his irritation suddenly drained to worry. It confused Steve a moment, before he followed Tony's gaze to a disgusted looking Peter tucked protectively behind Bucky's legs.

"What were you doing  _that_ for?" Peter scrunched up his nose.

"That's…" Tony rubbed his forehead, then shook his head and went over to crouch in front of Peter, look him over. "Not something to discuss right now. Are you alright? Were you near the explosion?"

"I'm fine, we were outside the gates, why did Steve—?" Peter started, leaned to the side to frown at Steve over Tony's shoulder.

"We'll talk about that later, Peter," Tony interrupted gently, "Right now I need you to be my good boy and follow instructions, okay? Can you do that?"

"I—"

"Tony?" Clint interrupted as he entered the room, sword drawn, before relaxing at seeing who was there. "Everyone secure?"

"Yes." Tony nodded. "Clint, take Peter to the safe room and stay with him. Peter, I want you on your best behavior for him, you understand?"

"This is a real code red, huh?" Peter bit his lip.

"Afraid so, baby." Tony cupped his chin, tilted his head up with a smile. "But you're my big brave boy, right?"

"Right," Peter affirmed proudly.

"That's the spirit." Tony kissed his forehead. "Go with Clint, he'll take you to the safe room. The rest of us are going to go kick the butt of whoever thinks they can just go knocking on our door like that."

"And then you're gonna come back?" Peter demanded, hugging Tony's knees tightly.

Tony ran a hand through Peter's hair with an affectionate smile, used his fingers to comb it into place. "Always."

"If they want to put so much as a scratch on your father, they'll have to go through me first," Steve promised him determinedly, only for Peter to scowl.

"I don't want them scratching you neither, you're gonna be—"

Sam quickly stepped forward to clap a hand over his mouth. Steve narrowed his eyes at Sam, who looked tellingly guilty, but they didn't have the time to figure out whatever was going on there.

"We'll talk more later." Tony eyed Sam as well, before bending down to kiss Peter's forehead one last time and give him a tight hug. "I love you, Peter. We'll be back as soon as we can."

Tony nodded at Clint, who nodded back sharply and escorted Peter away. Tony turned to Bucky and Sam next. "Any idea where the explosion was?"

"East wing," Bucky answered.

"Guest quarters, possibly," Sam clarified.

Tony got the implication. "Thor."

"Exactly."

"And or Jane," Steve pointed out as he retrieved the rest of their clothes, tossing Tony's pieces to Tony as he found them. He hoped Bucky might know when to leave well enough alone, but he shouldn't have bothered. After a beat of silence where he rocked on the balls of his feet like a fidgety child, Bucky gave in and asked,

"We're really not gonna talk about this?"

"I wasn't aware there was anything to be discussed with you." Tony shot Bucky a look that clearly told him to leave it be and Sam elbowed him. It did no good.

"I listened to Steve go on about you for ten years—"

"Bucky," Steve hissed. It wasn't exactly a secret, but that didn't make it any more relevant or any less embarrassing. A smile twitched on Tony's lips.

"—I think I at least deserve a confirmation that all his starry-eyed romanticism is finally being returned."

Tony smiled at Steve. "If you ever thought it wasn't, you were greatly mislead."

"So you still love him back, right?" Bucky demanded, entirely undeterred by the current emergency, the fact that it was still a somewhat up in the air subject, or Steve's growing annoyance.

"Bucky!"

"It's a fair question—"

"It's none of your business, is what it is." Steve chuckled his boot at Bucky's head, an easy enough toss for Bucky to duck, just something to get him to listen up and butt out. "Lay off him. Both of you go guard the door, or something."

"Already tossing out orders…preparing to be a king, Stevie-boy?" Bucky grinned, the utter  _shit,_ then ducked out the door anyway before Steve's other boot could follow.

It was sort of funny, but he'd honestly never thought about that. Marrying Tony, he'd thought about—dreamed about—since he was sixteen. The way in which his status would be affected should've at least peripherally occurred to him at some point or another, but it just…never quite had. He'd been young when it'd been a possibility, and later on it'd been nothing more than an hopeless dream. Logistics hadn't mattered. Wouldn't have, until Tony forgave him, something he'd never thought would actually happen. But it had. He'd been forgiven, which he could barely wrap his mind around, then they'd gone on to make love for the first time in  _ten years_ , which Steve  _absolutely_ hadn't yet wrapped his mind around, he could hardly be expected to think of anything else—

"You're overthinking again," Tony told him with a soft smile, retrieving Steve's boot and passing it to him with a kiss on the cheek. "We've got an explosion to investigate, a faked death to miraculously recover from, and a jilted sorcerer after my throne to deal with. Let's handle that."

"You don't seem quite as…"

"Caught off-guard?" Tony shrugged, looping his belt around his waist. "Well. It really never occurred to you? You're intelligent, kind-hearted, brave…not to mention you've got the best moral compass of anyone I know. You'd do this place wonders."

"I didn't spend my nights dreaming of how I could help the kingdom," Steve told him, a raw honesty coloring his voice as he remembered what it'd felt like to hold Tony again. Remembered the slide of his skin and the powerful flex of his hips against Steve's, the taste of his kiss and every perfect sound he'd made as they took each other apart in ways only they knew how. "I dreamed of this, Tony. To have you again, for even the briefest of moments…"

"I want nothing to do with brief." Tony secured his scabbard, the final piece, before crossing back to Steve at last and kissing him with all the tenderness Steve had missed most. "I want take out the bastard who thought attacking my castle was a smart move, then I want to bring you back here and have you to myself for hours. Days, if it can be managed."

"Anything you want." Steve clasped Tony's face in his hands, kissed him gently. "I owe you the world, Tony. Give me the time and I'll find a way to give it to you."

"Steve, you don't owe—" Tony was cut off by a second explosion. He hesitated, clearly reluctant to end the conversation but unable to ignore duty. "We're not finished."

"Never," Steve promised, kissing him once more before letting him lead them out the door.

"So your doors are exceptionally thin," Bucky announced as they joined him and Sam in the hall, "Thought I might point that out. Before you attempt your sex marathon with a seven year old next door."

"A seven year old I now have to explain romantic relationships to." Tony scowled at Bucky. "Thank you so much for that."

"Were you planning on not kissing Steve in front of him until he was twenty-five, or just eighteen?"

"I was planning on having a somewhat more abstract conversation with him to ease him into it,  _before_ presenting ourselves as an example." Tony sighed. "Which is now no longer an option."

"Does that mean you're going to start kissing in public now? I'm not sure I'm ready for—"

"Could you focus on the fact that we're under attack for possibly thirty seconds, Buck?" Steve interrupted, "You said east wing."

"Sure, but—" Bucky looked about to start in on it again and Steve was prepared to cut him off, until Tony caught Steve by the back of the neck and tugged him into a quick and somewhat hasty—though of course not unpleasant—kiss.

"I love him, which means I might kiss him in view from time to time and do indeed plan on a much thicker door. Can you perhaps draw up some interest in the attack on our home now, or do you have more stupid questions?" Tony demanded.

Steve would be a little embarrassed if he weren't quite so turned on. Besides, Bucky looked ashamed enough for the both of them. "Nope, yeah, I'm, uh. Good. Let's kick some ass."

"That's more like it." Tony gave a small nod of approval.

Steve tried to stop thinking about how incredibly hot it was when Tony went into command mode, failing right up until they turned the corner and were confronted by a dozen armed Chitauri. He'd seen one once or twice before in his travels, but never this many. They were humanoid looking, hive-minded reptilian creatures with little in the way of brain and a lot in the way of killer instincts. Ambition and kingdoms weren't their game, they just liked picking off weaker travelers that strayed into their territory; Loki must've made a deal with their leader for them to be launching an organized attack like this. The Chitauri nearest to them screeched, drew the others' attention. Steve readied his sword as they charged.

"Armor's weak in the neck and chest," Sam reminded them.

"Not a fan of fire either," Bucky pointed out.

"Oh, well, let me just whip out my handy dandy torch." Tony rolled his eyes. He was the first to meet the enemy head on, had it disarmed and down in two strikes. Steve couldn't help feeling a smug sort of pride.

"I've seen you whip out enough for one lifetime," Bucky retorted, knocking back one of his own with a swing of his sword and a kick to its stomach.

"What the hell was your home life like." Tony grunted, elbowing one in the face before following it up with a slash across the neck. "That you think a bit of a peck is equivalent to 'whipping it out'?"

"Bandit kid." Bucky shrugged. "Didn't really go all in for the whole displaying affections thing."

"So when a lady, what, waves at you, that'll get you going then?" Tony chuckled.

"Please." Bucky snorted. "Says King I-Got-Laid-Zero-Times-In-Ten-Years."

"You don't know that," Tony shot back, before catching Steve's alarmed look and quickly amending, "Obviously I didn't! But  _he_ didn't have to know that. And it was a choice, anyway, it's not as if I never got offers—"

"Can we talk about anything else?" Steve grunted as he disarmed his third Chitauri, not liking the conversational turn at all.

"Offers don't count," Bucky retorted to Tony, ignoring Steve entirely, "You know how many women I slept with in the past ten years? Cause I sure don't, I can't even count."

"We ought to get you lessons, if you can't count higher than three," Tony said dryly, disarming a fourth, then fifth Chitauri in the space of a few seconds.

"Fuck you, it was at least twenty."

Sam and Steve exchanged a knowing glance. For all that Bucky certainly had a way with women, twenty seemed a bit high. Steve gave a bit of a sigh as he refocused on his opponent. Bucky and Tony at each other's throats was the very last thing he needed right now.

"In that case, perhaps we ought to forgo the lessons and have Bruce check you for disease." Tony snorted.

"We can't all just fall in love with one person and trail after them the rest of our lives." Bucky made a face.

"No, we can't." Tony delivered a quick two-strike his opponent, knocking them down before flashing a smile Steve's way. "Some of us are damn lucky."

"I still know more about the fairer sex than you ever will," Bucky muttered at him.

"And I know more about the fair Steve than you ever will." Tony smirked at Bucky in a particularly lewd way, who groaned in unison with Sam.

"Oh,  _gross—"_

"Nasty—"

"What's wrong with you—"

"The  _images—"_

"I'm starting to get offended here." Steve shot them a half-hearted glare, then an even fonder one at Tony. "Was that necessary?"

"Absolutely." Tony flashed him a quick grin before finishing off the final Chitauri definitively. "Let's keep moving."

* * *

"Bucky and Sam told you  _what?"_

"Isn't it true?" Peter blinked up at Clint, who was gaping at him a little as they made haste down the back staircase.

"Well…" Clint eventually shrugged. "Honestly, just about anything's possible when it comes to Steve and your dad."

"So they  _are_ gonna get married?"

"It's…hard to explain."

"But they were kissing." Peter made a face. It seemed gross, but he also had it on reliable authority that was what people in love did. Harry had told him so, said his parents did it sometimes when they thought he wasn't looking. "Only people in love kiss."

"That's…uh." Clint made a thoughtful sort of face. "Not really—well, it's true enough in this case, I guess—"

"So they're in love?"

Clint didn't hesitate. "Yes, but—"

"So why wouldn't they get married?"

"Buddy, this is really not the time." Clint hurried him along.

"When is the time?"

"When your dad is around to explain it to me, first," Clint muttered.

"But Bucky and Sam said not to tell him he was getting married," Peter insisted, "It's a secret, you can't tell—"

"I won't." Clint smiled at him. "Secret's safe with me, Pete."

"Good." Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He could always trust Clint to keep his secrets. "Thanks."

"No problem." Clint patted his shoulder. Another explosion sounded, off in the distance but still enough to make Clint's face cloud with worry and for Peter's mind to instantly jump to where his dad might be, if he'd been near. "Come on, Pete. We need to keep moving."

Peter obeyed, taking the steps two at a time. Daddy's words came back to him, about how in an emergency he'd need to be quick but quiet. He hadn't been doing that very well so far, but he tried now. The safe room really was safe, Daddy had helped design the defenses and Bruce had warded it specially, but Peter still worried. Not that Clint wasn't a great fighter, because Peter had seen him fight and he was amazing, but because he worried about Daddy, and Steve, and all the knights he knew were the first line of defense against these things. It had to be pretty hard to fight explosions with a sword and shield. His worry must've shown, because Clint squeezed his shoulder as he led him into the room.

"Relax, kiddo, everything's gonna be just fine."

"I wouldn't make any promises."

Peter spun around in time to see someone he didn't recognize tapping a long staff tipped with a blue gem to Clint's chest. They were just outside the safe room's archway, outside the protection of Bruce's wards; Clint tensed a moment, then his eyes went dark and hooded before turning a scary blue. Peter backed away, further into the safe room.

"Clint…?"

"Afraid he's beyond reach." The stranger smirked, patted Clint's cheek. "Peter, I presume?"

"What'd you do to him?" Terrified though he was, Peter threw up his fists defensively like he'd been taught. He remembered what Steve had told him about fighting people taller and squared his shoulders, lifted his chin up high. The stranger only chuckled, took another step forward. Peter backed away hastily. "You're that—the Loki guy, aren't you? Don't you try anything, I'll, I'll punch you in the face!"

"Feisty. A Stark indeed." The stranger smirked. It had to be Loki, the person everyone kept talking about when they didn't think Peter was listening.

"I'm stronger'n I look." Peter grit his teeth to bite back the fear that rose with every step forward Loki took. "I'll punch your teeth out! I will!"

"Aggressive, aren't you?" Loki peered down at him, amused. "No need for all that. Your friend here is quite compliant, you see?"

"Your magic won't work in here," Peter snapped. The man looked like a shadow, dark and slippery as he advanced forward.

"I don't believe I'll need it." Loki waved a hand and Clint darted forward.

Clint elbowed him in the chest, knocked the air right out of him before he could scream  _red_ like he was supposed to, then got a hand over Peter's mouth before he could get his breath back. Peter tried to bite him but Clint wouldn't let go, tried to kick him but Clint didn't flinch even when Peter got him right in the junk. Clint wrapped one arm steel-tight around his arms and middle, kept the other over his mouth, holding Peter forward like a present.

Fear shook him; Peter squeezed his eyes shut, tried to blink back tears. He liked Clint, he  _trusted_ Clint. He trusted all the knights, but Clint was one of his favorites, always ready with a joke or a game, always willing to make time for Peter if he could. Clint would never hurt him, Clint would never hurt him,  _Clint would never hurt him—_

Loki turned, exited the safe room with a quick wave of his hand to Clint. "Come along."

Clint hauled Peter out, following after Loki complacently. Peter tried to fight again, managed to free his mouth long enough to shout at them, "He won't give you shit! He'll just kick your ass like the rest of—mph!"

"Such language." Loki's lips twitched in something too sinister to be a smile. Peter sneered behind the hand Clint had wrapped back around his mouth. "Not very bright, though. You really think there's anything your father wouldn't trade for you? Mm, I think not."

Loki crooked a finger, gestured for Clint to follow him up and out of the underground area. An army of monsters was waiting for them, monsters unlike any Peter had seen before. Their faces looked like scaly skulls, hollowed but for their eyes, eerie blue eyes like Clint's, and razor sharp teeth. He couldn't help a brief whimper before he bit down on his cheek to stop, but they didn't seem to have any interest in him. They parted as Loki pressed forwards, falling in line behind him.

He was dragged to the throne room, where Loki approached the throne— _Daddy's_ throne,  _not_ his—with a fascinated sort of look. Dozens and dozens of monsters filled the room behind them; one jostled Clint, long enough for Peter wiggle an arm free and clock Clint in the nose with his elbow. Clint's hold wavered and Peter launched himself forward, struggled away and back towards the door. He was cut off by one of the monsters, who snatched him up by the shirt and screeched in his face. Between the teeth and the claws and the ferocious sound, fear shook Peter to the core and he couldn't help it, he burst out crying.

"Put him down!" Loki demanded immediately, moving towards them impatiently. He grabbed Peter by the arm and yanked him away, adding with an air of disdain, "That brat's your meal ticket, you dull creatures."

"I-I'm not g-gonna do anything f-for you!" Peter tried to tug his arm free, but Loki only scoffed, unmoved by his tears or his attempts to be brave.

"Sit down and stay silent," Loki demanded, pointing to the ground by the throne before turning to Clint and ordering with a smirk, "Fetch his father."

* * *

The way Clint walked right through the army of Chitauri should've said enough, but Tony was too concerned to consider it.

"Why the fuck are you not with Peter?" Tony paused only long enough to slice through one of the Chitauri's neck armor before ordering, "Get your ass back to the safe room, now!"

"Loki's with Peter," Clint informed him, oblivious or uncaring to the fact that Tony's entire world felt like it'd just bottomed out on him, "He has a proposition for you."

Tony damn near dropped his sword, but pure, unfiltered rage kept him steady. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Barton?"

"It means you should follow me."

"I took you in when you had nothing," Tony hissed, "I gave you a family, a  _home,_ and you hand my child over to a  _murderer,_  you sick son of a  _bitch—"_

"For fuck's sake." Rhodey elbowed a Chitauri out of the way, stabbing another in the gut before reaching him, "I don't know what you two are stopping to chat about but if you haven't noticed there's a couple things that might take priority here—"

"Loki's got Peter." Tony's hands clenched so tight around his sword he could feel the muscle straining. "Because Clint handed him right over."

"What the  _fuck—"_ Rhodey raised his sword to Clint but Tony stopped him immediately. They killed Clint now and there was no telling how Loki might retaliate. Tony wouldn't risk that.

"I'll go with you," he grit out to Clint, who nodded and turned on his heel.

There was no hint of smugness about him, no emotion at all, and if Tony could bring himself to think rationally for a moment past the building, blinding rage, there was something strange about Clint's eyes. It could be magic. Magic would make more sense than a betrayal, Clint had always been loyal to a fault and Tony had trusted him the way he trusted all his knights, but he couldn't be sure. He supposed it didn't matter yet. What mattered was getting Peter back, getting him to safety; everything else was secondary. If he had to kill Clint to do it, he would. He hoped one of the Chitauri would rush him, give him a reason to be violent and rid himself of even a bit of the building tension, but none of them did. As soon as they saw him follow Clint, they parted around him. Disappointing. He'd have liked very much to stab something just then.

Loki would have to do.

Clint led him to his own throne room, now filled with Chitauri and a despicably smug Loki, though all Tony had eyes for was his son. Peter was at the foot of the throne, hugging his knees and holding back tears. He seemed unharmed, thank god, no visible cuts or bruises, though he was clearly scared out of his mind. He looked terribly hopeful for a moment when Tony was led in, before he crumpled in on himself when he seemed to realize the odds. Tony was an excellent fighter, but a hundred Chitauri at once while a sorcerer held his son hostage and back-up was preoccupied was something straight out of a nightmare.

"How good of you to come," Loki drawled, "It's been rather long, hasn't it? I don't recall receiving many an invitation from you."

"You were never much fun at parties." Tony didn't tear his eyes from Peter. "How's this play, Loki? What is it you want?"

"Seems rather obvious, doesn't it?" Loki waved an idle hand at the throne he was lounging in.

"You want that ugly, uncomfortable chair, it's all yours."

"Don't be dull." Loki's smirk soured. "You're only interesting when you use that brain of yours."

"I don't endeavor to be of interest to you." Tony dragged his gaze from Peter to Loki. "Don't involve children, it's beneath even you."

"'Even me'?" Loki rolled his eyes. "Such flattery. You really know how to get what you want."

"He's seven," Tony insisted, "That's too young for war games and you know it."

"Casualties younger than he litter history." Loki sneered. The thought of that fate befalling Peter chilled Tony to his very core. "Apparently I'm an example. Haven't you heard? Snatched from a fallen kingdom like nothing more than a trophy."

"Given the life of a prince," Tony argued, "Given a family and a home—"

"Lied to!" Loki snapped, "I have no family, my family was slaughtered by the man I was made to call father—"

"So you take it out on me and mine?" Tony demanded, "He's a  _child,_ for god's sake, think about what you're doing—"

"I've done plenty of thinking." Loki stood, raising the staff he had in his hand. It was nothing Tony had seen him carry or use before, a wooden staff with a blue gem fixed to it. He didn't recognize the gem either, but Bruce had told him enough about certain powerful stones to be wary. "My army has been ordered to lead your precious knights right to that door."

"Not a great plan, considering kidnapping their favorite prince was just about the quickest way you could've pissed them off."

"I'm sure they'll be very angry indeed," Loki mused, coming down the steps to approach him, "But how will your friends have time for me when they're so busy fighting you?"

Loki leveled his staff at the center of Tony's chest. When nothing happened, he grew a little frustrated, stepped closer and tried again. Tony resisted the urge to sink his sword right into the smug bastard's chest. It would do him no good; even if Loki died on the spot, there would be no chance of Tony getting to Peter before a Chitauri did. Loki tapped him again, but still nothing happened.

"Performance issues?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

Loki's expression darkened. He grabbed Tony by the throat, throwing him almost effortlessly aside. Stronger than Tony remembered, then. He caught Peter wincing, watching him worriedly, so he met Peter's eyes and mouthed  _it's gonna be fine._ Even if he wasn't quite sure how yet.

"No matter," Loki said, though the sour, displeased turn of his mood was clear. He stalked back up the steps to the throne, grabbed Peter by the cuff of the shirt and hauled him up. Tony clenched his hands into fists, felt his nails dig into his palms and reminded himself again that charging forward would only do harm. "Open the doors!"

The battle raged on just outside the doors, though his knights seemed to be holding up well. The Chitauri fell back as soon as the doors opened, leaving the knights confused until they turned, caught sight of Loki with Peter, Tony just down the steps. Tony could only see a handful of them, Natasha and Rhodey and Sam, but as soon as the Chitauri stopped fighting others approached the doorway as well.

"Come in." Loki gestured to them. When no one moved, Loki smirked at Tony and gave Peter a rough sort of shake.

"Do as he says," Tony grit out.

The knights stepped warily into the room. Chitauri parted around them to make room, though they still hissed and flexed their claws, clearly displeased at being called off. Tony did a quick headcount; both his and Thor's knights were present, with the exception of Steve, Bucky, and Thor himself. Loki surveyed them as well, obviously searching for Thor.

"You go too far, brother," Thor announced as he stormed into the room, righteous fury written clear across his face.

"Thor," Tony warned. He was more furious with Loki than even Thor could be, but he couldn't let his or Thor's rage jeopardize his son. Where the hell were Steve and Bucky? He wasn't sure if he ought to be worried or grateful that they hadn't been rounded up.

"What honor is there in threatening a child?" Thor bristled, though he made no further move forward.

"What honor is there in stealing a babe from its crib?" Loki sneered.

"Our father took you in, he did not—"

"Enough of this." Loki tightened his grip on Peter, slamming the staff against the ground for silence. "You'll be taken to cells. Resist in any way, and the boy will be the first of many casualties. Barton, find our missing knights and explain to them that there's been a regime change."

"Understood." Clint nodded once before heading for the door.

Before Tony could even realize what she was doing, much less stop her, Natasha snagged Clint by the arm as he passed her.

"Let him go!" Tony ordered immediately,

It wasn't an attack, thank god; she only stared into his eyes a moment before Clint broke the hold dismissively and continued on.

"Did you not hear me, Romanoff?" Loki hissed, digging his fingers into Peter's shoulder.

Peter winced a little, but kept his chin high. Tony was filled with both pride and sick, terrible fear. Peter didn't silence easily, but he hadn't said so much as a word yet. He'd already fought and failed, then, or Loki had silenced him with a spell. Tony didn't like either option. Loki seemed distracted by Natasha, so Tony caught Peter's eyes, mouthed,  _everything will be fine, I promise._ Peter bit his lip and gave a small, slight nod.

"You've got Barton under a spell." Natasha met Loki's stare evenly, a statement instead of a question.

"Loyalty is so very hard to come by these days, I rather prefer obedience." Loki waved his hand to the Chitauri. "Spell or spy, it won't matter much to you in the dungeons. Take them away."


	15. Chapter 15

"How come every time  _you_ get in a fight,  _I_ end up stabbed?" Bucky complained, hissing as Bruce put pressure on his arm.

"You're the idiot that thought charging four of them at once would be a good idea," Steve reasoned, "And it's hardly 'my' fight, this is our home—"

"Your home—"

" _Our_ home," Steve repeated, "Unless you're planning on ditching me and running off into the sunset with Sam?"

"Like I could leave you here alone." Bucky snorted. "I'd come back in ten years and you'd still be blushing at each other in the halls, shuffling your feet and postponing a wedding that should've happened a hundred fucking years ago."

"Seconded," Bruce added before telling Bucky, "This is going to hurt."

"Can't hurt worse than having a spear in my goddamn arm."

Bruce's face said it all, though he vocalized anyway, "Yes, it can. Brace yourself."

Bucky grit his teeth, grabbed Steve's hand and clamped down iron tight. "Go on, do it."

Bruce yanked the Chitauri spear out of Bucky's shoulder in one quick motion. Bucky managed not to howl, though it seemed to take a hell of an effort and he nearly broke Steve's fingers in the process.

"Next time, you're holding the chair," Steve muttered, flexing his hand to try and get the feeling back.

"Oh my god I fucking hate you so much why did we even  _come_ here god this was the worst idea you've ever had I can't believe I let you talk us into coming to this stupid fucking kingdom just because of—"

"Put your head between your knees," Bruce advised as Bucky grew close to hyper-ventilating.

"—some dumb childhood crush I swear to god if you don't marry that asshole and make this all worth it I will end you, Stevie, I swear, oh my  _fucking god that hurt—"_

Bucky kept talking, but it became incoherent as he finally shoved his head between his knees. Steve patted his back in a somewhat pathetic attempt at consolation. Bruce leaned forward, pressed both hands over the wound. Bucky swore louder and grappled for Steve's hand again. In spite of his threat, Steve offered his hand and Bucky clamped down as Bruce's hands glowed over Bucky's injured shoulder. Steve watched in fascination as the skin grew over and the wound closed itself.

"That's  _amazing."_  Steve marveled at Bucky's shoulder, good as new.

"Not fun for the patient." Bruce glanced at Bucky apologetically, but Bucky was too busy hyperventilating into his knees and swearing a blue streak to pay any attention. "For most wounds it wouldn't be worth it, but regular recovery would take at least a few weeks and it seems like we need all hands available right now."

"We sure do." Steve nudged Bucky with his foot. "You ready to get back out there?"

"Go fuck yourself," came Bucky's strangled response.

"I—"

"If you make a joke about already having that need taken care of, I  _will_ punch you in the face." Steve fell silent. Bucky groaned anyway. Bruce made a face. Bucky saw it and waved a vague, noncommittal hand. "They're fucking again."

"Bucky." Steve rubbed his forehead, not even surprised enough to be annoyed.

"That's…" Bruce seemed to be struggling to find an appropriate answer, though he was fighting a smile. "Congratulations. When do you think the wedding might be?"

"Uh." Steve cleared his throat, looking anywhere except at Bruce's genuinely, politely curious expression. "Well. Despite speculation to the contrary, we weren't actually engaged to begin with. So picking up where we left off doesn't necessarily mean…and there's more involved this time around, anyway, we're adults now and there's Peter to consider—"

"Right. Because the kid hates you, clearly." Bucky lifted his head, rolled his eyes. "I can't  _imagine_ him ever wanting you to stick around. It's not as if you're his childhood hero, or like he begs to spend time with you or anything."

"He didn't exactly react well when he caught me kissing his father."

"Yeah." Bucky gave him the You Loveable Fucking Idiot look. "Because you were  _kissing his father_. No one wants to see their dad making out with someone, no matter how much they like that someone. I'm pretty sure it's against the laws of nature."

"Peter knows?" Bruce asked.

"It's been a hectic couple hours." Steve sighed, glancing at the door. "And things haven't exactly settled down. Come on, Buck, we should jump back in."

"Fucking slave driver," Bucky muttered, but he stood anyway and followed after Steve, "I just had a goddamn spear in my arm."

"And whose fault is that for running toward the spear?" Steve opened the door, waved his goodbye to Bruce.

"It's the fault of the thing that shoved it into my shoulder, asshole!" Bucky protested as he followed Steve out the door.

"I'm just saying if maybe you watched where you were going…"

"This wasn't some accident, I was the victim of a war injury!"

"That seems a little dramatic." Steve shrugged nonchalantly. "You look fine to me."

"That's because—and—" Bucky sputtered, "Magic, you dick."

"I thought that was just hand-wavy bullshit."

"Handy hand-wavy bullshit," Bucky admitted, "I'll give it that."

"Bucky…" Steve narrowed his eyes at the deserted halls. "Where'd all the Chitauri go?"

The fighting hadn't reached Bruce's area of the castle when Steve had hauled Bucky in there a little while ago, but should've at least been able to hear something. Further explosions, general battle sounds… _something_.

"Let me just ask my Chitauri friend here." Bucky mimed turning to a non-existent Chitauri. "Hey, buddy, where'd your murderous army go? I could use another spear or two, my pal here thinks I'm not enough of a voodoo doll yet."

"Shut up." Steve bumped his shoulder. Bucky must've really been in pain; he only got this sarcastic after the worst ones. "Listen. I can't hear anything at all, can you?"

"To be honest with you, one of them screeched in my ear about an hour ago and I've only been catching about half of what's going on since."

"The fighting's over." Steve frowned. It sounded like good news, but there was no way the knights had taken out all of the Chitauri by now. He believed they were going to win, certainly, but not this fast. Something had happened. "Do you think there's such a thing as a locating spell?"

"The guy made the hole in my shoulder disappear, I'm not exactly doubting him right now." Bucky shrugged, but followed Steve back down the hall towards Bruce's chambers. "Why?"

"If we can find Tony, we can get to the root of what's going on." Steve knocked twice before re-entering. "Bruce, you wouldn't be able to find Tony for me, would you? With some sort of spell, maybe?"

"I imagine he's probably wherever the biggest cluster of Chitauri are." Bruce chuckled.

"That's the problem." Steve glanced back out the door. Still nothing. "We haven't seen or heard any. Is there anything you can do to locate him…magically?"

"Sure." Bruce shrugged, stood and moved towards the back of the room to pull up a map. It had a rainbow of glowing dots, all populating—

"The dungeons?" Steve frowned, stepping forward to look closer for himself.

"The dungeons," Bruce confirmed, concern all over his face, "If they were just taking Loki or anyone else to the dungeons—"

"There'd be no need for nine people." Bucky's eyes widened. "They got beat? In the half hour we were gone?"

"No." Steve shook his head, frowned and stared at the map harder. He pointed out the small blue dot in the throne room. "No, not possible. That dot there, who's that?"

Bruce startled, leaned in as if to make sure. "That's—that's Peter, he should be in the safe room, or at least with one of the knights—"

"That's why everyone's in the dungeons." Steve grit his teeth. "Loki got to Peter."

"But he's only seven." Bruce shook his head, stunned. "He's just a kid, would Loki really—"

"He would." Steve flexed his hand over the hilt of his sword. "He's always been a piece of work and clearly time hasn't done him any favors."

They needed to go after Peter. Tony and the others were veteran swordfighters, Peter was just a boy; there was no contest, no matter how much the thought of leaving Tony in the dungeons without aid grated on him. Tony had asked Steve to trust him to handle himself, before. Now was the time to do so.

"Steve?" Bucky eyed him. Bucky would follow him either way, he knew.

Steve nodded once, sharply. "Let's get Peter."

* * *

"I'm going to kill your brother," Tony snarled to Thor, "Don't think for a moment that you're stopping me."

"He is deranged," Thor insisted, "I understand that he has wronged you most grievously—"

"Wronged me?  _Wronged me?"_ Tony slammed a fist against the bars between separating their cells, roared, "He kidnapped my son!"

"He has lost his mind," Thor implored, "He shall face harsh judgment in Asgard, I assure you—"

"From who? His ill father, his sympathetic mother?" Tony scoffed. "You pity him too much."

"I have no pity for him, but he is still my brother. I don't have to understand him to love him."

Thor gave him a meaningful sort of look. Tony blanched. "Are you  _really_  comparing Loki to Steve? Because I'll tell you something right now, if I ever so fundamentally misjudged him that he was capable of kidnapping and using little boys as bargaining chips in a war, I'd fucking behead him myself."

"It is not the same." Thor shook his head gravely. "I know that. Just as I know he deserves no mercy, but I ask it as a favor to me, Anthony, not to him. Spare his life, nothing more. He will be kept in Asgard's dungeons all his life, that I promise."

"He wants you dead, you know." Tony sighed. He was still furious, but not with Thor. He stepped away from the bars, resumed his pacing.

"I know." Thor sighed and stepped away as well, the tension of their argument bleeding out. They were all still pumping with adrenaline and anger, being cooped up wasn't good for anyone. "It is not that I think his behavior will change; I have no doubt that it will not. I only wish not to see him dead."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, aggravated and tense and unable to stop seeing Peter's tear-streaked, terrified face in his mind. "If he hurts Peter, in any way—"

"The matter will lie in your hands," Thor swore, "I will say nothing."

Tony nodded once, concise. He didn't like it, but Thor was their kingdom's best ally and a personal friend. If no harm came to Peter…he could do Thor that one favor. Argument settled for the moment, he poked his head out to look a few cells down.

"Sam, you have any ideas where Steve and Bucky disappeared to?"

"Last I saw them Bucky took a spear to the shoulder." Sam nodded. "Steve said he was taking him to Bruce, I bet they were stuck with him long enough to miss the roundup."

That was good. That was perfect; so long as they realized something was wrong before the Chitauri found them, they'd have the upper hand. If they were smart about it, they'd get Bruce to track everyone down, find out where Peter was being kept and get him to safety.

"That's one thing in our favor, then." Tony glanced around. They'd all been thrown into separate cells, but between the lot of them they ought to be able to figure something out. "Anyone know how to break out of a dungeon?"

"Aren't they coming for us?" Happy asked.

"They'll go for Peter." Tony shook his head. "If they can get Peter out of the way, we've got a fair fight against Loki and the Chitauri again and we'll have them on their asses."

"And Clint?" Natasha caught his eyes. "He's under a spell, Tony. You can't hold him accountable."

Tony stifled the flicker of anger. He knew he couldn't, but that didn't mean he didn't want to. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We can treat him as hostile without eliminating him, the question to focus on right now is how we're going to get to the keys."

The keys to each of the cells were usually kept on the jailers; in this case, Clint had disposed of their on duty guards and taken the keys for himself. It was safe to assume he was just down the hall, monitoring the only exit; Chitauri hardly had the brain capacity to play jailer.

"Do we need them?" Rhodey suggested, "Anyone know how to pick a lock?"

"Tony had me pick them, then improved them until I couldn't." Natasha shrugged. "Unless any of you think you're better lockpicks."

Silence all around. Tony sighed, tried to think of other escape plans, but nothing came to mind. Which he supposed was good, in one sense—he wouldn't want his dungeons to be easily escaped, under normal circumstances—but not particularly helpful at the moment.

"Anyone got any big rocks in their cell, anything like that?" Sam kicked at the straw that constituted his bed. "We could bash the locks in."

"I don't know how they do it where you're from, but we don't usually leave our prisoners with tools to help them escape." Happy rolled his eyes.

"The bars and locks are cast-iron, regardless." Phil shook his head. "Wouldn't work."

"I was just spitballing," Sam muttered, "I don't hear any of you shouting out any bright ideas."

"If you can win back your friend, he could let us out," one of Thor's men pointed out. Fandral, possibly? Tony wasn't very clear on their names.

"Loki's magic is strong." Tony rubbed at his forehead. "He suspended me from a balcony when we were just…what, eleven? Twelve? I don't imagine he's gotten weaker."

"Magic of the mind is…trickier, than suspension spells or other more physical things." Sif hesitated. There was something in her expression Tony couldn't place. "It's more invasive, but the resulting hold is more tenuous."

Tony scrutinized her. Her loyalties lay quite clearly with Thor, but her expression… "You were close to Loki."

"We talked," she answered stiffly, "Sometimes about magic."

Tony nodded, left it alone. Wasn't his business. Natasha peered out of her cell, questioned, "Do you know enough about it to know how to break mind control?"

"Only vaguely." Sif shrugged one shoulder, apologetic. "Disruptive forces of some sort. Strong emotion, perhaps?"

"Loki tried his mind magic on me earlier," Tony realized, "It didn't work."

"You'd already seen Peter, right?" Sif glanced at him. He nodded. "You hated Loki enough that he couldn't break through."

"Hm." Natasha glanced between them. Seeming to come to a conclusion, she leaned out of her cell, stuck her thumb and finger to her lips, and whistled loudly.

"What're you—" Happy started.

"You were warned about noise," Clint called from down the hall.

"Why should I listen to you?" Natasha scoffed loudly, "What are you going to do to me, exactly? You've used archery as an excuse for shoddy combat skills for years."

"Trying to rile me, Romanoff?" Clint leaned into the corridor. Tony waited for the smirk or the scowl, but it didn't come. Clint's face looked almost alien without any of his usual attitude. "Keep talking, see how that works out for Peter."

"I'm just trying to get you to fight like a man. Threatening a little boy, is that really your style? Following orders, running around obeying Loki's every little wish…is that all you are, Barton? A lap dog?" A lone arrow sliced through the air, inches from Natasha's neck. A warning shot; she didn't flinch. "Shooting from where you're safe and untouchable, oh yes, you're a real man's man."

Tony worried for a flicker of a second she might've gone too far, that this brain-washed Clint might go right ahead and shoot her for real, but then he heard the stomp of boots come down the hall. Tony tended to trust Natasha to know what she was doing, but couldn't quite see how antagonizing Clint was supposed to help. Getting him angry couldn't really be enough to break the hold, could it?

"How about here?" Clint challenged, coming to a stop in front of Natasha's cell and drawing a knife, "There or here, I can still—"

Natasha had him by the shirtfront before any of them could so much as blink, jerked him forward and slammed his head against the bars. He dropped like a rock.

When everyone stared at her, Natasha shrugged. "Disruptive force, right?"

"Not gonna lie, I'm more than a little turned on right now," Sam admitted, sounding somewhat in awe. When everyone gave him assorted incredulous looks, Sam scowled. "What? Bucky would agree with me."

"Ignoring that," Tony decided, asking Natasha, "Did Clint have the keys on him?"

"When is anything ever that easy?" Natasha muttered as she reached through the bars, rifling through his pockets. "No."

"Not much of a plan," one of Thor's men commented. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

"When Clint wakes he might be himself and get the keys for us. If he doesn't, someone else I can take care of might come along to fetch him, and they might bring keys. Even if they don't and Clint doesn't wake, then at least there's no one to report back to Loki when we escape. Or did you have a better idea?"

Sam grinned, leaned out of his cell. "Can we get married, or is there some sort of not-until-the-royal-idiots-get-off-their-butts rule?"

"That's enough, Sam." Tony cleared his throat, interrupting before Natasha could answer with her own, certainly equally pointed remark; he could practically hear it in her smirk already. "Don't, Natasha. Dungeons, escape plan, focusing—"

"Whazzat?" Clint's head lolled, from one side to the other. "Tasha?"

"Clint." She bent down, reached a hand through the bars and placed it over his wrist. "You're going to be alright."

"You know that?" he muttered, almost unintelligibly, "Is that what you know? Have to…contain you, keep…"

"You have to level out." She squeezed his wrist. "We don't have much time."

"Why am I back?" Clint was breathing hard, blinking rapidly like he was trying to focus. He'd watch Natasha for a few seconds then look around, distracted by something none of them could see. "How'd you get him out?"

"Disruptive force." She gave a small shrug, hint of a smile. "I hit you really hard in the head."

"Thanks." Clint huffed a laugh. Then, almost immediately, any sense of humor drained away and he sat up, spun towards Tony. He lost his balance, scrambled a little but got to his feet and grabbed the bars of Tony's cell, gasped out, "Peter. Tony, Peter, I—"

"Don't do that to yourself, Clint," Natasha warned.

"Your—Peter, I just handed him right to—" Clint shook his head, still seemed fogged, unclear. "Tony, I'm so sorry—"

If Tony had any doubts about his ability to forgive Clint, they evaporated at the obvious, horrified shame and regret on Clint's face.

"She's right," Tony agreed, reaching through the bars to take Clint by the shoulder, steady him. "You shouldn't do that to yourself."

"Peter—"

"Is alive." Tony cut him off. "And is going to stay that way. Get the keys, get us out of here, and let's put a few arrows through that Chituari army of Loki's. Alright?"

Clint glanced away, but eventually muttered, "I'd sleep better if I could put one through his eye socket."

Tony didn't miss the way Thor flinched, but he couldn't say he didn't whole-heartedly agree with Clint's sentiment. Natasha smiled.

"Now you sound like you."

* * *

Steve and Bucky took out dozens of Chitauri before they were overwhelmed and hauled into the throne room. Even then they didn't quite give in, kicked and scratched where they could, goaded the enemy verbally when they couldn't get a hit in. When they were thrown to the floor in front of Loki lounging in Tony's throne, they were bloody and bruised and still kicking, weary but not yet beaten. Not until they saw Peter at Loki's side; then they slumped, dropped their heads and grit their teeth but fought no more.

It was a hell of show, really.

"You'll join your friends quietly, I take it." Loki smirked, squeezing Peter's shoulder.

Peter looked horribly disappointed to see they'd been found. Steve wanted to tell him it'd be alright, that this was all a part of the plan, but giving him any sign of hope could give them away to Loki. He played his part and looked away, did his best to look ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Peter." He meant that. He was sorry Peter had to go through this at all, sorry there wasn't a better way to save him than to temporarily dash his hopes.

Loki scoffed, pushed Peter's shoulder so that he would be seated on the ground beside the throne again, then waved his hand at the Chitauri. "Take them to join their friends."

Steve watched carefully as they were hauled off, waiting for the signal. He tried to dig in his heels a little, drop his body weight, resist enough to slow them down without causing a scene or making Loki reach for Peter again. Then, just as they were about to be taken from the room, he saw it.

Peter disappeared.

Steve nodded to Bucky and they both drew their swords, kicked away their guards and began to fight back. Loki's expression soured immediately and he rose up furiously, hands clenched into fists.

"Idiots," he hissed, "You think I'm afraid to use the Stark brat against—"

Loki grappled at his side for Peter, presumably to grab his arm or drag him up, but Peter was of course gone. Loki's expression would've almost been comical under less dire circumstances. He rounded back, stalking down the stairs and pushing the Chitauri aside to beeline right for them. Steve was more than happy with that.

"How did you—?" Loki started to snap, but Steve didn't let him so much as finish the question before charging forward and swinging his sword right for Loki's heart.

Loki deflected with a burst of shielding magic, seeming to realize his disadvantage and backing off enough for the Chitauri to step in and preoccupy Steve once again. Loki whirled around, looking for and not finding Peter, growing frustrated with every moment that passed. Steve couldn't help a smug grin. He and Bucky were back to back now, outnumbered but not hopelessly so; they'd certainly battled far worse odds. More important than the odds, however, was that Bruce had Peter. He'd turned him invisible and hopefully already had him out of the throne room and halfway back to the safe room by now. So long as Peter was safe, Bucky and Steve could take care of the rest.

"You don't know magic." Loki narrowed his eyes at them, scrutinizing, trying to figure out what they'd done. "You're soldiers, idiotic muscle men, you couldn't possibly have mastered any spells! What did you do with the boy?"

Neither Bucky nor Steve broke stride to attempt a response. A little longer and they'd be finished with Loki's army, a little closer and they'd be fighting Loki himself. Loki didn't seem worried so much as furious.

"Where is he? I demand an answer! I am a  _king_ , you dull—!"

A loud boom echoed through the room as Bruce appeared and unleashed a rippling burst of green magic that slammed Loki back against the far wall. "Kind of a puny king, if you ask me."

"Bruce, what're you still doing here?" Not that Steve was ungrateful for the help—though he certainly hadn't been expecting anything like  _that,_ he might've come up with a different plan if he'd known what Bruce was capable of—but the area wasn't secure yet and Peter needed to be taken as far from here as possible.

"You were blocking the exit." Bruce made a anxious, apologetic sort of hand gesture. "I need both hands to keep us invisible, I needed a clear path—"

"New plan." Steve maneuvered his way to Bruce, hoisted Peter up onto one hip. Peter clung to him tightly, buried his face in Steve's shoulder. He was probably still scared out of his mind, but Steve unfortunately didn't have the time to try consoling him just yet. "I'll take Peter. You stay and—"

"What, me?"

"Yeah, just…" Steve gestured to where Loki was dazed and confused, trying to extract himself from the crater he'd made in the wall. "Smash. You seem pretty good at it from where I'm standing."

Bruce nodded slowly as his hands began to glow with that same green energy from before. He advanced towards the Chitauri. "I can smash."

"Come on, Pete." Steve hugged Peter a little closer as he forced his way through the crowd of Chitauri, didn't let any of them near enough to so much as breathe on Peter. "Let's find your dad."

Peter sniffled a bit and nodded vigorously into his shoulder. "Loki made Clint take 'em to the dungeons."

"I'll bet you anything," Steve told him softly as they exited into the hallway, empty but for the dead and unconscious Chitauri littering the floor. They had to be close to winning, Loki's army was dwindling fast now. "That your dad has already gotten free and is fighting his way up to see you right this very second."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. You really think that dungeon's enough to hold him for very long?"

"No." Peter shook his head, the beginnings of a smile forming.

"Heck no." Steve kissed Peter's temple. "Your dad fights dragons when he's bored, there isn't anything in this world that can hold him down if he wants to be up."

"Steve?" Peter asked, his voice going quiet as his smile faded.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"He's…is he gonna be mad?"

Steve was preoccupied worrying about Bucky and Bruce alone, about how Tony was faring in spite of his words, about how he himself would handle any more Chitauri on the way with a child in one arm. His mind was going a hundred different ways while his eyes were on the hall ahead to watch for enemies; he missed Peter's expression, the way his voice dipped with worry, and assumed he was asking if Tony would be mad with Loki.

"Oh, furious," Steve assured, checking the corner before turning, eyes still focused ahead.

He startled when Peter burst into tears.

Peter just—just  _wailed,_ no words or build-up or anything, just sobbed loudly into Steve's shoulder and clenched Steve's shirt in both fists and shook with the force of it. Steve came to a stop for a minute, startled and concerned and entirely at a loss. His experience with children was essentially limited to Peter, who hadn't cried much around him thus far. The few times he had, Tony had dealt with it; Steve tried to remember what he'd done. Talk it out, right?

"Peter, what—are you okay? Can you use your words? Did I hurt you, or—?"

"I'm sorry!" Peter hiccupped, wiping his nose on Steve's shoulder pad. "I tried to fight, I did, I really did, but Clint was so strong and I—"

" _Clint?"_

"—was gonna scream red but Clint hit me so I couldn't breathe for a minute and then I thought if I did Daddy would come and get zapped too and I didn't know what to do I'm sorry please don't let Daddy be mad at me—"

"Peter," Steve interrupted and hugged him tight, insisting, "Your father is going to be nothing short of overjoyed to have you back safe and sound, I promise. He loves you and he is so,  _so_ proud of how brave you were."

"But—" Peter sniffled. "But you said—"

"He's going to be furious with  _Loki._ I misunderstood your question, I'm sorry." Steve started to walk again, got them back on track. "That was my fault."

"But I didn't do what I'm s'posed to," Peter insisted dismally, "I'm s'posed to scream red if bad things happen and I didn't, I got taken and Loki used me to make Daddy listen—"

"That's on Loki," Steve told him firmly, "Not on you. Not one bit of this is your fault, Peter, and I promise you that your dad thinks the exact same thing."

"But…" Peter went quiet for a moment, then mumbled, "But Stark men are s'posed to be brave. Not cry."

"Hey." Steve frowned sternly. "Who says brave men can't cry?"

"I'm not a man." Peter didn't meet Steve's eyes. "I'm just a boy."

"A little man, then." Steve brushed Peter's hair back with his free hand, the way he always saw Tony do when Peter needed comforting. "But a very, very brave one. Being brave doesn't mean you don't cry, Peter. Being brave means you get up and you keep going anyway, even when you're scared. You did that today. You were very brave."

"You think so?" Peter looked up at him with damp, hopeful eyes.

"I know so." Steve rubbed his thumb at Peter's cheek to wipe away the tears as he turned down the passageway that led to the dungeons. "Think you can be brave just a little longer for me?"

Peter clenched his jaw a bit and gave a sharp, sure nod. Though he really had no right to be, Steve couldn't help feeling achingly proud of him. Though Peter was certainly his own person, he shared so many of Tony's best qualities; bravery, determination, heart.

"Steve? Peter?"

Steve had been distracted by his thoughts, so Clint caught sight of them first, but that distraction turned fast to anger as Peter flinched at the sound of Clint's voice. Steve didn't like the idea of putting Peter down, but it was better than the alternative. He gave a quick glance behind them—they hadn't been followed, all clear—before setting Peter down and advancing on Clint.

Tony rounded the corner just two steps behind Clint, saw Steve's intention and blurted out, "Wait, no, Steve, he's not—"

He was quick, but not quick enough to stop Steve from punching Clint in the face.


	16. Chapter 16

"To be fair…" Clint groaned, rubbing a hand to his nose. "I deserved that."

"He was brainwashed, he's back now," Tony explained to Steve belatedly.

Steve watched for injuries beyond the basic cuts and bruises, but Tony seemed fine as he stepped past Steve and Clint and straight for the waiting Peter, who all but flung himself into Tony's arms.

"There we go, come here, baby." Tony scooped Peter up, pressing kisses to his cheeks and forehead, running a reassuring hand over his back. "Loki didn't hurt you, didn't he?"

"I'm okay." Peter sniffled a little, burying his face into Tony's shoulder.

"My tough boy." Tony kissed Peter's hair. "You were so brave today, Peter, I'm so proud of you."

"Sorry." Steve offered a hand to Clint, helped him up. He didn't feel overly apologetic—according to Peter, Clint had hit him hard enough that he couldn't breathe—but Tony seemed to have forgiven Clint so Steve let it slide as well.

"Like I said." Clint accepted the hand up, gave a bit of a shrug as the others started rounding the corner. "Fair's fair."

"Bruce and Bucky are engaging with Loki and his army," Steve reported to Tony, nodding in greeting to the others. "They're still in the throne room, as far as I know."

"Good. Thor, go retrieve your brother," Tony instructed, not taking his eyes from Peter as he stroked the boy's hair, hugged him closer. "If I have to do it, he won't fare well."

"Understood." Thor nodded, stepping past them. Steve was surprised Tony was letting Loki go so easily, but Thor stopped after a few strides and turned back with a contrite expression. Steve got the impression they'd discussed Loki's fate beforehand. "This will not be forgotten, Anthony. I know he doesn't deserve your mercy."

Tony gave a small, stiff shrug. "It wouldn't be mercy if it was deserved."

"I promise our next visit will be much more pleasant." Thor gave a somewhat bitter laugh.

"At least they're never boring." Tony grinned a little in return. "Just promise me no more poison arrows, I'm still sore from lying about that long."

"I promise." Thor extended a hand. Tony shook it, then waved him on.

"Go. I want that bastard the hell out of my castle already."

Thor nodded, gestured for his knights to follow. Clint rubbed at his nose, glanced after them before asking Tony, "Can I still put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, or would that go against this mercy treaty thing?"

Tony shrugged, unconcerned. "I promised we wouldn't kill him, nobody said anything about maiming."

"Fantastic." Clint hitched his quiver higher on his shoulder and took off after Thor and his knights.

The others trickled after him, stopping to squeeze Peter's shoulder or ruffle his hair, but otherwise just as eager to go cause a little damage before Loki was hauled away. Steve hung back. He was less concerned with landing a punch on Loki than he was with checking in with Tony, making sure Peter was really okay. Tony bounced Peter a little, still stroking a worried hand over his back.

"S'you aren't mad?" Peter asked guiltily, not making eye contact.

"At what?" Tony lifted Peter's chin. "At how incredibly brave you were today? Not a chance. You did what it took to stay safe, that's all I would ever want."

"Steve said it's okay to be afraid." Peter glanced at Steve as he fiddled with Tony's collar. "He said you can still be brave as long as you keep going."

"Steve's a smart guy." Tony smiled, first at him then back at Peter. "Wanna hear a secret?"

"What?"

"I was terrified today."

"Nu-uh."

"Uh-huh." Tony kissed Peter's nose. "Big time. Nothing scares me more than seeing you in danger."

"I was scared for you too," Peter admitted, snuggling up against Tony's chest, "Even though I knew you were gonna win."

Tony laughed, met Steve's eyes above Peter's head. "Well, of course I won. I had you to fight for and knights like Steve to back me up, Loki didn't stand a chance."

"You're alright then?" Steve stepped closer, squeezed Tony's arm lightly. Tony looked fine, wasn't limping and didn't seem to be having trouble holding Peter, but Steve still wanted to hear it out loud.

Tony smiled, likely reading his mind. "Hardly even nicked."

"Yeah you are." Peter frowned in worried disagreement. "Y'got a scratch right here, and bruise here, and a big cut there, and a  _really_ big cut there, and—"

"Alright, alright, slightly nicked." Tony conceded with a laugh, jostling Peter to get him to stop. "But I came back much worse from dealing with that ogre's den, you remember, Petey? I couldn't walk for a moon after that, this is nothing."

"You couldn't walk for a—" Steve tamped down the urge to swear. Peter was watching him attentively. "A  _moon?"_

"It was my own fault, really." Tony shrugged far too cavalierly. "Should've left well enough alone, but villagers from the kingdom over were complaining and King Justin was just sitting around doing nothing, like always—"

"It wasn't even for your  _own_  kingdom?" Honestly, at that point, Steve shouldn't even have been surprised.

"You remember Justin, don't you?" Tony made a face.

Steve certainly did. Justin had been the prince of their neighboring kingdom, arrogant and demanding at best. Every time King Howard met with Justin's father, Tony had been expected to entertain Justin. To be fair to Tony, he seemed to give it a fair shot once or twice, but Justin harassed Pepper, was jealous of Rhodey, and disdainful of Steve; it wasn't long before 'entertaining Justin' became 'pranking Justin mercilessly'. Steve couldn't imagine the kingdoms had particularly good relations these days.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"He hasn't changed." Tony scoffed. "His people already have to live with him as king, they hardly deserve to live in fear of ogres as well."

"So you investigated on his behalf."

"'Stormed' might perhaps be more accurate," Tony admitted. When Steve gave him a look, he protested, "What? The knights and I were bored, it'd been a slow week."

"I'd ask you to promise me you won't do something that insane ever again, but I think we both know that's not a promise you can make." Steve gave a tired smile, leaning into Tony a bit. Tony still had Peter in his arms and now was hardly the time or place—they were still under attack, by all technical definitions—but Steve wanted to feel Tony by his side, even just a little. "Promise me the next time you run off on whatever crazy scheme comes to mind, you'll at least take me with you?"

"Always," Tony promised, not thinking twice before leaning in and kissing Steve chastely above Peter's head. Peter made a grossed out sort of whine, planting his face in Tony's shirt.

"Now what's that for, huh?" Tony pulled back with a disgruntled noise, glancing down at Peter and kissing the crown of his head for good measure. "You like it when I kiss you, don't you?"

Peter pulled his face away from Tony's shirt, scrunched up his nose. "That's diff'rent."

"How so?"

"You're  _s'posed_  t'kiss me."

"Very true." Tony laughed. "But sometimes I'm supposed to kiss Steve, too."

"How come?"

"Same reason I kiss you." Tony kissed Peter's forehead for emphasis. "Because I love you, and I want to."

"I guess," Peter mumbled, "But you're kissing him  _more."_

"Twice is hardly 'more'." Tony laughed again, kissed Peter on both cheeks and then the tip of his nose. "There, now you're certainly ahead."

Peter seemed to be trying his hardest not to smile as he leaned away from Tony a little, towards Steve, informing them seriously, "But you've still got more Steve kisses than I do, I need more Steve kisses for it t'be fair."

"Well, to make it fair." Steve nodded sagely, leaning in to press a couple of smacking kisses to Peter's cheeks while Peter giggled, pleased.

"Well, that's just disgustingly sweet." Steve glanced up to see Bucky approaching with a good-natured grin, Rhodey and Sam on his tail. "In other news, Loki's being hauled away by the Asgardians, there's a bunch of dead Chitauri strewn across the castle, and Bruce is  _terrifying._  Seriously, what do you feed that guy and where can I get some?"

"The Asgardians have permission, we can deal with the bodies, and Bruce isn't someone you want to make angry, no," Tony replied with a laugh.

"What're our orders?" Rhodey spoke up.

"Go check in with everyone you can, get a head count—knights, guards, staff, everyone—then report back to me. Sam, get Bruce to his quarters and make sure anyone seriously wounded sees him. Bucky, gather the others and start collecting bodies, the sooner we clear them out the sooner we can put this mess behind us. Steve and I'll go with—" Tony was interrupted by Peter's yawn, his expression shifting from focused to conflicted. Steve glanced out at the darkening sky. It wasn't particularly late, but it certainly wasn't surprising Peter would be tired after the day he'd had. Still, Steve knew Tony wouldn't be willing to let Peter out of his sight anytime soon.

"You should put Peter to bed," Steve told him, "We can—"

"No," Tony said abruptly, looking startled Steve had even suggested it, "What? No, that's—I'm not going to leave him alone barely five minutes after he—"

"I didn't say leave him alone," Steve corrected calmly, subtly touching his hand to Tony's back, "Stay with him. The Chitauri are defeated and Loki's gone, we can take care of the rest."

Sam cleared his throat. "We'll go see to your orders now."

Rhodey nodded in agreement, shooting Tony a smile. "But for the record, Steve's got the right idea. We can report the head count to Phil."

"Seconded." Bucky nodded too, then the three of them turned and went back off down the hall.

"I should help," Tony pointed out. For once, he sounded like he was hoping Steve would disagree with him. Steve leaned in, kissed his temple.

"You can't haul Peter around all night and we both know you're not going to leave him in there alone. We've got everything under control here, go put him to bed. And join him, you look exhausted anyway."

"And here I thought I looked battle-fresh and roguishly handsome." Tony tried for a grin, but it somehow just made him look even more worn out.

"They're not mutually exclusive," Steve pointed out with a smile, carding his fingers absently through Tony's hair. "The adrenaline's wearing off. Get some sleep."

"What about you?" Tony leaned into the touch.

"I'll be fine, I'm still—"

"I know you'll be fine. I meant when you're finished, you should come to bed with me. Us, I suppose."

Steve glanced at Peter, already out like a light, careful not to hope for too much. "You're sure that's a good idea?"

"He's been begging for a sleepover for weeks, that's all he'll think of it. Unless you don't want to?"

Tony was teasing, but there was a subtle hint of concern and self-consciousness to it that never would've been there before. Regret flashed through Steve, brief but sharp, then he smiled and pulled Tony into his arms. The maneuver was a touch awkward, the sleeping Peter cradled between them, but it worked well enough that Tony could slump against his shoulder. Steve bent his head a little, nose pressed into Tony's hair.

"Do I even need to tell you how ridiculous that is?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to hearing it out loud," Tony admitted.

"The idea that I ever wouldn't want to share your bed, for any reason whatsoever, is absolutely ridiculous," Steve told him, "I love you."

"I love you," Tony echoed, tilting his head up for a kiss. As if Steve could ever refuse.

After a moment, however, he pulled away enough to tell Tony, "Go to bed or I'm carrying you there."

"You just like showing off all those new muscles for me," Tony teased.

"Entirely possible." Steve flexed a little for show. Tony laughed softly.

"Sir Steven Rogers, King Carrier. It's got a nice ring to it."

"You think I won't do it?"

"I very much think you would, but ten minutes after an invasion isn't really the time for a king to be seen being carried around. Impressions of weakness and such."

"No one who's ever met you would mistake you as weak," Steve disagreed, but placed his hand on Tony's back and began to guide him along down the hall instead. "Though that's a fair enough point."

"You're really serious." Tony eyed him. "You think I should just go to bed? Like there aren't a hundred things to take care of, people to speak to, plans to make?"

"I think the knights can take care of most of it and what we can't will still be there in the morning," Steve corrected, "Mostly, I think you're exhausted—"

"We're all exhausted—"

"—and you have a child to tend to. No one would begrudge you that."

"I see right through you, Rogers," Tony hummed, "You're just trying to get me back in bed."

"It'd be a much more appealing prospect if I could join you." Steve glanced at the unconscious Peter, already drooling on Tony's shoulder. "Preferably alone."

"Only preferably?" Tony raised an eyebrow, teasing.

"Peter's a sound sleeper, isn't he?" Steve joked back.

"Not that sound of one." Tony laughed. "You're rather louder than I remembered."

"What, and you're quiet?" Steve grinned knowingly.

"It's my castle, I can be as loud as I damn please," Tony informed him.

"It's a nice change," Steve admitted. They'd always had to be quiet before, wary of being caught.

"It is," Tony agreed, catching Steve's eyes with a sly grin, "Though Bucky might have had the right idea about thicker doors."

"A project for another day." Steve kissed his cheek, for no real reason other than that Tony would let him, that it didn't matter who saw, that he simply  _could._

The way Tony smiled back at him, he got the feeling Tony knew.

They walked together back to the west wing, Peter not so much as batting an eye when Tony laid him on the bed. He made a sleepy sort of noise or two as they maneuvered him under the covers, but nothing more. Tony pressed a kiss to Peter's hair before straightening, eyeing Steve knowingly.

"You're hovering."

"A little."

"If they can manage without me, they can manage without you."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"More of an invitation." Tony stepped forward, hooking his fingers in the edges of Steve's armor. "Considering the looks they were giving us when they left, I'm not sure they're expecting you back anyway."

"We're beginning to get a reputation." Steve leaned in, mouth just a breath away from Tony's.

"I can live with that." Tony began to unbuckle the clasps of Steve's armor.

"Look who knows how to remove armor now," Steve teased, "And here you always told me was too difficult for you to remove without my assistance."

Tony hummed. Steve could practically feel it against his mouth. "Removing it from you provides a much better incentive."

Tony finished with the chestplate, put it on the table. His touch slowed, his fingers lingering as he removed the rest. It wasn't quite sexual, just affectionate and appreciative as he'd catch Steve's eyes or trace his free hand over the back of Steve's neck, and Steve didn't need to hear a word to know how he was feeling. When Tony was happy like this he exuded it, put it into every gesture, every smile, every touch. He was just so genuinely glad Steve was here, and that…that was so much more than Steve deserved.

"I never dreamed you might have me back," he admitted quietly, "I thought…after everything, I can't tell you how happy I still am you'll even speak to me."

"I told you, beloved." Tony smiled up at him, happy and tired and endlessly loving in exactly the way Steve didn't deserve. "I forgive you."

Steve dropped Tony's gaze. "I haven't—I don't deserve that, Tony—"

"Steve." Tony interrupted, his smile flickering to something softer, sadder. He cupped Steve's face, got him to make eye contact again. "I'm not saying I think you made the right call. Or that I'll completely forget it, or even that I won't still wake up half the time expecting you gone again. We're never going to have a blank slate. But that doesn't mean I can't forgive you, either. Love isn't about…seeking retribution, or working for atonement. Love is forgiveness, and I love you so much more than I'm angry with you. So if you love me too—"

"That's  _never_ an if—" Steve began, a little louder than he'd intended. Tony shushed him softly with a quick glance at the thankfully still very unconscious Peter.

"Then stop beating yourself up about it," Tony implored, catching his hand and lacing their fingers together, squeezing tight. "I was angry with you, as I had a right to be. But what kind of relationship can we have if you're always on your knees, always trying to earn a forgiveness you've already been granted? Do you really want to spend the rest of our lives so busy looking back that we never look forward?"

"Of course not." Steve thought of the ring hidden away in his things, thought of the hopes for the future he'd been trying so hard to keep tentative. He pulled Tony closer, insisted, "I look forward, Tony, I do. These past two weeks—before then, even—the future's all I've been able to think of. You and Peter are a family and I'm late to it, I know, but I—"

"You're here now." Tony ran his hands up Steve's chest, stroked his thumbs over Steve's jaw. "You're here, we're together, we're  _happy,_ that's all that matters. We can still be a family, we still—"

It was Steve who couldn't stop himself from interrupting this time, in the form of dragging Tony forward by the waist and kissing him. Words had never been his strong suit, so he tried his best to pour all the hope and longing he couldn't fathom into quite the right words into the kiss instead. Tony fisted both hands in Steve's mesh and didn't take so much as a second to return the enthusiasm. It was a while before they parted for anything more than air, but when they did Steve knew exactly where he wanted to pick up. Exactly where he always should've picked up.

"There aren't words for how happy you make me." Steve squeezed Tony's waist, held his gaze as he told him softly, "So marry me will have to suffice."

For half a second Tony's expression stayed perfectly frozen and Steve was suddenly, horribly certain he was dreaming. Then Tony wrapped both arms around Steve's neck and sank into him, kissed him with the kind of fervor Steve knew no dream could match. When Tony pulled back he didn't go far, just enough for Steve to see his damp eyes and wide, giddy smile.

"I asked you first, you know—"

Steve kissed him to stop his talking, fierce and tender at once. He couldn't give less of a damn who was asking and who was agreeing, so long as he got to keep this for the rest of his life. "Then my answer's yes."

"It damn better be," Tony's voice wavered again and his eyes were wet as he surged forward to steal another kiss.

"I love you," Steve told him when they parted, rubbed his thumbs up under Tony's shirt in comfort, "I love you so much, Tony. You know I wanted to say yes then too, don't you?"

"You might've had me worried for a couple years there." Tony tried for a laugh, but it came out somewhat choked.

"I've wanted to marry you since before I even knew what it meant," Steve told him, still running his hands over the bare skin of Tony's hips in reassurance, "You could've asked me at six where I'd be in a hundred years and I'd have said by your side. I'd have pictured us sailing the seven seas and rolling in piles of gold, but—"

Tony laughed, a real one this time. "You and that pirate phase."

Steve smiled, dipped his head until their foreheads touched. "Pirates, knights, kings, hell, bandits, I don't care. But it's always been you, Tony, and it always will be. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"Forever." Tony didn't pause, just shook his head hard with a troubled look Steve hated to see. "And if you ever disappear again—"

"Never—"

"—Peter and I are packing up and we're going to hunt you down if it takes another ten years, you're not—you can't—if we get married there's no backing out, beloved, you can't do that to me—"

"Never." Steve kissed him once, twice, then hugged him close and repeated into his ear, "Never, sweetheart. I promise you I'm not capable of it."

Tony's hold tightened a little, but he nodded against Steve's neck. They stayed like that for a while, close and quiet and reveling in the moment for as long as they could have it. After some time Peter stirred in his sleep, made a soft, fearful sort of whine, and they parted to comfort him. They sat along the edge of the bed, Tony reaching down to brush back Peter's hair soothingly.

"Loki's gone, baby," he hushed, "It's just you, me, and Steve."

Peter was only barely awake as he looked between them, eyes half-lidded. "Gone f'rever?"

"Even longer," Tony assured, "Forever and a half."

"What's half'a f'rever?" Peter mumbled drowsily.

"Infinity," Steve told him. Peter blinked, sluggish in that sleepy sort of way, then nodded slowly.

"Okay." Peter yawned. "Sleepover?"

"Sleepover," Tony confirmed, kissing Peter's temple. "But go back to sleep, baby. We're going to change first."

"But it's a sleepover," Peter protested weakly, still only barely keeping his eyes open, "We gotta…we gotta stay up late, tell stories and secrets and stuff."

"Next time," Steve promised, patting his leg with a smile, "We're going to have plenty of sleepovers, Pete."

"But I got a real good secret," Peter told him, "Bucky said—he and Sam, they said if I told you, Daddy would throw 'em off'a tower."

Steve and Tony exchanged a glance.

"Maybe we have time for one secret," Tony said.

"You hafta get in first." Peter shook his head.

"Can't you tell us now?" Steve asked. Tony just sighed as Peter shook his head again, more vigorously.

"That's not how you tell a secret." Peter frowned. "You have to pull the sheet up and huddle together and whisper it, or it doesn't count. Didn't Daddy ever tell you any secrets?"

"Okay, Petey." Tony seemed to be trying to stifle a smile as he squeezed Peter's arm. "We'll get changed and get in, then you can tell us the secret, alright?"

Peter nodded eagerly, snuggling back into the sheets. Steve shot Tony an amused glance as they stood. Tony rolled his eyes, but Steve could see the hint of pink along the back of his neck. When they'd been younger, Peter's age and even a little older, that had always been their favored method of sharing secrets.

"And who taught him that, I wonder?" Steve whispered to Tony with a grin.

"It's rude to tease your betrothed," Tony informed him. Steve stopped suddenly, and Tony bumped into his back. "Wh—?"

Steve turned and kissed him, both hands cupping Tony's face as he hauled him in and kissed him until they were both entirely breathless. Tony laughed against his mouth.

"God help me should I use 'beloved' and 'betrothed' in the same sentence."

"God help  _me_ ," Steve disagreed, rubbing his thumbs over Tony's cheekbones affectionately.

"You kiss too much," Peter muttered into his pillow.

"We kiss just enough," Tony shot back, "You can close your eyes if you don't like it."

"Are you comin' t'hear my secret or not?" Peter complained, "It's a real good one."

"We're coming," Steve told him, admittedly rather curious about whatever secret Bucky and Sam had thought was a good idea to entrust with Peter and his very large mouth. Steve gave Tony one more quick kiss. "I'll be back. My sleep clothes are still in Peter's room."

Tony nodded, started stripping down. Steve lingered a moment to watch as Tony's shirt came off, until Tony shot him a knowing grin and a little shimmy of his hips as he slipped out of his pants next. Steve turned away for both their sakes, moved to the bookshelf and tugged on the book that would make it turn. He went through—though, admittedly, not without glancing once more over his shoulder at Tony—and retrieved his clothes. He changed there and came back through the bookshelf. When Tony saw him already changed, he clicked his tongue.

"Cheater. I showed you mine, what happened to reciprocity?"

Steve leaned in to kiss Tony's cheek, lowering his voice to a suggestive whisper, "I'll make it up to you."

"Now  _that's_ cheating," Tony said, but his wide grin ruined whatever disapproving effect he was going for.

"Come  _on,"_ Peter insisted.

"We need to work on your patience, Pete." Tony sighed, but it was fond. He pulled back the sheets and scooted in next to Peter.

When Steve started to get in after him, Peter immediately protested to Tony, "No no no, it's my turn to be middle. You promised, remember?"

"I suppose I did promise…" Tony said slowly, clearly trying to think of a counterargument. Steve leaned close enough to kiss Tony behind the ear, then crawled over him and Peter to get to the other side of the bed. "Aw, no, Steve—"

"A promise is a promise." Steve bumped Peter's shoulder. "Right, Pete?"

"Right." Peter snuggled between them happily, already tugging the sheet up.

Steve helped him, got the sheet high enough that they could all scoot under. Tony was still…well, pouting was really the best word for it. Steve leaned behind Peter, got his fingers in Tony's hair and stroked through it. Tony relaxed a little, shot him a smile. Steve was starting to wonder if hair petting might be a Stark thing.

"You both hafta promise t'never ever tell in all of forever," Peter whispered quietly, the picture of dramatic now that he'd fully woken up, adding quickly with a look at Steve, "Or forever and inifity."

"Not in all of forever and infinity," Steve promised, subtly correcting him, "Cross my heart."

"And hope to die?" Peter glanced at Tony next.

"And hope to die, Pete," Tony confirmed, making a little x over his heart for good measure, "What's your secret?"

"You're gonna get…" Peter whispered, pausing dramatically, " _Married."_

Steve and Tony exchanged an alarmed look.

"Peter…" Tony said slowly, "Were you pretending to be asleep before?"

"What?" Peter frowned, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. "No. Why?"

"What did you say before, about Bucky and Sam getting thrown off a tower?" Steve prompted instead.

"They said some people have two parents," Peter explained, "And I said I knew that, and they said you'd make a good parent, and I realized that'd be the greatest thing ever so I was gonna ask you t'be, but they said not to do that or Daddy might throw them off a tower for telling, cause you've been engaged for ages and didn't know it. Except now that you know, you can get married before I grow up, right?"

Steve was speechless. After a moment, Tony managed to speak first. "Bucky was right. I think I might throw them off a tower."

"No, you can't," Peter disagreed, "He and Sam're gonna be my uncles."

"That's not—I mean—" Steve rubbed his forehead. They were so obsessed with that. "They're not actually my brothers, Peter, you know that, right?"

"I know. But they said they're  _like_ brothers, so they're  _like_ uncles."

"If they want kids this badly they ought to go get married themselves," Tony muttered.

"Bucky was gonna marry you but I told him he can't," Peter told Tony, turning to Steve with a proud smile, "I told him I wanted  _you_  t'be my other parent, cause you take me on adventures and teach me stuff and we could have sleepovers every day—"

"Go back, Peter, Bucky said what?" Tony made a face.

"He said if you guys didn't get off your butts, he was gonna steal Steve's ring and marry you himself," Peter repeated dutifully. Steve sighed.

"That sounds more like Bu—"

"You have an actual  _ring?"_  Tony interrupted.

"Sort of," Steve admitted, embarrassed. There was a reason he hadn't gotten it before. Tony deserved better, and now that Steve was home again, he could afford better; he'd been hoping to buy a little time. "I'll show you later. Peter, why did Bucky and Sam tell you about this?"

Peter tilted his head. "I don't remember. I went to ask them how come you'd sleep with Daddy and not me—"

"When did we—? Oh." Tony's neck colored. "Are you talking about earlier today?"

"Yeah. And they said Steve really liked me and that you guys probably just didn't know the bed was big enough—"

"Of course I like you," Steve assured.

"So you're gonna be my other parent?" Peter beamed up at him excitedly.

Steve glanced at Tony, unsure of how Tony might want to phrase it to Peter, but Tony just shrugged back at him with a challenging sort of grin. "Well, are you?"

"I am," he told Peter, though it was Tony's eyes he met, "We're going to be a family."

"We are?" Peter's eyes lit up like it was Christmas come early, but it was Tony's soft smile that made Steve feel warm all over.

"We are," Steve confirmed, dropping Tony's gaze to smile at Peter, who was now wiggling his way into Steve's lap.

"Does that mean every night's gonna be a sleepover?"

"No," Tony said immediately.

"You can sleep with us every once in a while," Steve amended with a laugh, "Just not every night."

"Every other night?"

"We'll work it out." Tony tapped Peter's nose. "But that's a conversation for the morning, since it's getting to be officially past your bedtime."

Peter flung both arms around Steve and clung. "A little longer! You each hafta tell me a secret too, cause I told a good one."

"A very good one." Tony agreed, then extended his pinkie for Peter to shake. "One secret each, then we all get some much needed sleep. Deal?"

"Deal." Peter nodded vigorously, shaking Tony's pinkie. "What's your secret, Daddy?"

"My secret…" Tony mused, "Is that I think Bucky and Sam actually wouldn't make half-bad uncles. They've been surprisingly good with you."

Steve smiled, but Peter just frowned. "That doesn't count, how's that a secret?"

"It's a secret because you can never tell it, I'm going to have too much fun teasing them." Tony fixed Peter with a look of pretend seriousness. "I mean it, Peter, you better cross your heart."

"Got it." Peter crossed his heart, though he still seemed dubious. "What about you, Steve? What's your secret?"

"My secret?" Steve thought it over. "My secret is that I snuck away from cleanup tonight to have a sleepover with you and your dad, and when I apologize tomorrow, I'm not going to be sorry at all."

Tony snorted a laugh. Peter's eyes went wide. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"Nope." Tony popped the p. "Steve here is the best cuddler in all the kingdom—nay, the world—and he's under official king's orders to cuddle you and me until we fall asleep to ward off any bad dreams."

Steve laughed. "King Carrier, King Cuddler, make up your mind."

"Sir Rogers can be the King Carrier. Steve my beloved betrothed can be the King Cuddler." Tony even had the audacity to bat his eyes.

"What, you think Peter's gonna stop me?" Steve challenged, leaning over Peter to wrap a hand around the back of Tony's head and bring him into a less than chaste kiss. They both ignored Peter's whine of displeasure.

"Aw, c'mon, no kissing in the fort!"

"Blame Steve." Tony grinned at Peter as they parted. "I don't have the slightest idea what got into him."

"You are  _such_  a liar."

"Ugh." Peter grunted decisively. Steve caught Tony's eye, then they leaned in together and both pressed as many kisses to Peter's cheeks as they could before Peter shoved them away. "Okay, okay, I get it, get off'a me!"

"If you want Steve farther away, maybe I should sleep in the middle then," Tony attempted.

Peter mulled that over as he wiped his cheeks off. "No. It's my turn. Just cuddles though, no more kisses."

"Deal." Steve pulled the sheet off their heads and settled himself into bed properly, getting an arm around Peter and holding out his other for Tony.

"How is it that the seven year old gets to decide the sleeping positions, huh?" Tony muttered, but took his hand.

"Seven and a half of a half," Peter pointed out, only to follow it with a yawn.

"Seven and a half of a half. Yes, that makes it much better."

"Three decades, minimum," Steve told him, "And I want four."

"Three decade minimum on what?" Tony's brow furrowed in confusion.

"How long the sleeping positions in our bed are going to be up to you and me alone," Steve clarified with a smile. Realization, fond amusement, and a hint of amazement dawned on Tony's features. Steve leaned over Peter's head for one more kiss goodnight. "I love you."

"I love you too, Steve." Tony squeezed his hand, drew him closer so the three of them were all tangled up together. It wouldn't last the night, not the way Peter tossed and turned and the way Tony liked to go spread-eagle, but Steve couldn't ever remember being happier.


	17. Chapter 17

They agreed not to say anything for the time being.

Neither of them particularly  _wanted_ to wait, but the timing wasn't right and they both knew it. Loki had attacked the castle yesterday; there'd been numerous injuries and a handful of casualties among the guard and castle staff, three explosions that had caused extensive damage to the castle, not to mention that most of the kingdom still thought Steve and Tony were "dead" from dreamshade poisoning. Now was a time to rebuild and set things straight. They could share their personal good news later.

Which, as it turned out, wasn't particularly hard to keep under wraps. The knights were horrifically hungover the morning after the invasion, because apparently they'd had the keen idea to go out drinking instead of assisting with clean-up. Tony formally chastised them, but couldn't really blame them. If he hadn't been so concerned with keeping an eye on Peter he'd likely have joined them. Regardless, they were too hungover to notice any subtle differences in Steve and Tony's behavior, and the part where the first serving hand to enter the room screamed bloody murder was a pretty effective distraction.

None of them were great people to surprise on an average day, but with yesterday's events still fresh in their minds the entire room went into defense mode. Most of them shoved up out of their seats, began reaching for assorted weaponry; Tony drew his knife with one hand and clutched Peter tight against his chest with the other, while Steve was already on his feet and shielding the both of them in the time it took Tony to blink. The serving hand gasped and staggered back at the room's response, but couldn't take her eyes from Tony.

"You're  _alive?"_

Right.

That.

Rhodey was the first to start laughing, tossing his knife onto the table and dropping back into his chair to laugh uproariously. The others were quick to follow suit, return to ease and retake their seats. Tony patted Steve's hip to get him to move out of his line of sight. Steve glanced back at him, amusement in his features but relief too, and Tony shot him a smile to convey that he was grateful for the cover. The serving hand still looked like she might drop to the floor in a dead faint any moment though, so Tony quickly talked her down and explained their ruse.

The rest of the day was filled with bureaucracy, meeting after meeting about rebuilding the castle, strengthening the defenses, recasting the wards, on and on. Not to mention the two weeks worth of civilian meetings he'd missed, the ones no one had seen fit to sit in on for him. Which meant almost the entirety of Tony's afternoon was taken up by his citizens gushing to him about how happy they were he was alive, now if he could just fix this one itty bitty little problem of theirs that would be  _great._

Life had been much easier when he was dead.

Once the council found out he was alive that of course became a whole big thing, one where they felt the need to convene a  _four hour meeting_ in order to ascertain that he was indeed who he said he was. The one bright spot was when Tony left to get a moment's fresh air and found Steve just outside the council hall door, lying in wait to snag him by the collar and steal him away to the empty hall just two doors down. The council didn't find "talking to someone about castle matters, or something" a satisfying answer for why Tony had disappeared on them for over an hour, but Tony was fairly sure they wouldn't have liked the truth much better.

His day of bureaucracy slowly but surely turned into a week of it. His whole days felt like one long meeting, brightened only by Steve's continued efforts to sneak him away every chance he got. Tony was ecstatic over their fresh start and wouldn't trade it, but so much had changed between them—even unimportant things, like how ridiculously tall Steve had grown—that he could admit it was nice to have one comfortably familiar element at play. They already knew all the best spots to disappear to without getting caught, how affectionate they could be without crossing into suspicious territory, ways to touch each other without drawing attention; it was only the consequences that had changed. In the past, hiding their feelings hadn't been out of choice, but necessity. Now, the only fallout of people discovering they'd moved from "nebulously in love but unsure of our footing" to "extremely blissfully betrothed" would be that their engagement was awkwardly close to the invasion. The lack of any real consequences also meant they could toy with getting caught, link fingers only just barely out of sight, sneak kisses where people might happen upon them, guide each other with hands that dipped a bit low.

The only problem, of course, was Peter.

Deciding to keep quiet was one thing, but keeping Peter quiet was another entirely. It'd been less than a week, but every time Tony turned around Peter had someone pulled aside, busy telling them he had a great secret to share if they promised to keep it just between them. Steve was running great interference—he'd been keeping an eye on Peter while Tony was in his meetings, leaving Peter in anyone else's hands meant Peter would immediately try and bring them in on the secret—but couldn't be everywhere at once. In the end, they compromised and told Rhodey, Sam, and Bucky the good news early, so they too could help corral Peter. Rhodey had swept Tony up off his feet in a hug; Steve said Sam and Bucky's reactions had been similarly joyful. Tony couldn't help but feel relieved. He'd known that of course people would be happy for them, but the irrational part of him—the part that sounded suspiciously like his father—had been unable to release that last bit of anxiety. Rhodey had been nothing but ecstatic for him though, told him what they all knew—that this was long overdue—and that he couldn't wait to be best man. Tony had ribbed him a little, said he wasn't sure yet who his best man ought to be. Rhodey'd put him in a headlock, and that had settled that.

Turned out, once Peter had people he was free to talk about the engagement with, he was impossible to shut up. According to their three babysitters—a word never to be mentioned in front of Peter, lest he pout for the rest of the day if not week—how much he wanted Steve to be his new parent was all he could talk about. Bucky reported that Peter spent no less than two hours yesterday listing, discussing, and comparing the various names he could call Steve by, and had only stopped after listing "mommy" offhandedly and making Bucky laugh so hard he hurt himself falling out of his chair. Tony figured he deserved it.

Peter came up with lists endlessly now thanks to Natasha, who he'd apparently seen making tons over the past month, lists of things to do and adventures to have and stuff for Steve to teach him. When Tony found that last particular list and pointed out that he himself was perfectly capable of teaching Peter everything on it—and had always intended to, thank you very much—Peter had only scoffed at him with a sass that frankly should've been beyond his years. Tony wasn't sure how he felt about that. Steve was pleased, of course, but Steve was pleased about pretty much everything these days, so that wasn't saying much.

Honestly, if anything was going to give them away, it would be the goofy-wide smile that had taken up permanent residence on Steve's face.

He practically woke up with it already slapped on, and Tony would know; he'd woken up every day this week to that dopey, wonderful smile kissing him somewhere or another. Steve smiled when they kissed, when they talked, when Tony so much as looked at him, and often even when he didn't do any of the above. Sam had described him as "stupid happy", while Rhodey had gone with "creeping the hell out of everyone who doesn't know what's up". Tony teased Steve about blowing their cover, but Steve only laughed at him.

"What?" Tony leaned in, bumped his nose against Steve's.

"Nothing." Steve smiled again, wider this time, before cupping Tony's neck and coaxing him into a kiss. Tony gave in. They were alone in the room, a currently unused celebration hall, Tony curled up in Steve's lap. They had another hour until Tony's next meeting and Sam was watching Peter, they had the time. Tony could get an answer out of Steve after another kiss. Or two.

"So what, you don't think you're going to blow our cover?" Tony eventually persisted. Steve sighed, more fond than anything else as he ran his hands down Tony's side, hugged him closer.

"You know that if anyone does that it'll be you, right?" Steve bit his lip a little, trying and failing to keep from grinning. "Not that I mind, but Rhodey says you've been smiling so much these days that people think you've hit your head."

"Lies," Tony denied, though he couldn't help but realize he was smiling even as he said it, "You're definitely smiling more than I am, I haven't seen you without a smile in days."

"Nor I you." Steve chuckled, amused now. "Apparently you smiled while giving the construction team instructions?"

"Well, obviously I wasn't thinking about construction." Tony scoffed. "That's hardly my fault, construction is incredibly boring."

"And during a council meeting?"

"That was your fault!"

"And I'm more than willing to take responsibility." Steve kissed Tony's temple. "I'm just glad you're happy."

"I don't know what else you could expect I'd be." Tony huffed a little. They'd been over this; Steve was forgiven, Tony didn't wish to dwell on it all. Steve had said he accepted Tony's forgiveness, but Tony knew Steve didn't quite believe him, not yet. Tony hoped their vows might change that. For the moment, he rubbed his thumb along Steve's cheek. "You make me happy, Steve. You know that, don't you?"

"I might've figured it out." Steve pressed a kiss to the side of Tony's head, nuzzled his nose in Tony's hair. "I love you."

"I might've figured that out." Tony smiled into Steve's shoulder. They were both quiet for a little while, Steve running his free hand down Tony's side, Tony resting his head against Steve's chest and playing idly with Steve's fingers. Eventually, it was Tony who broke the comfortable silence. "When, do you think?"

Steve knew precisely what he meant. "Soon. At least, I'd like it to be soon. I'm not sure I'd want to wait longer than another week. Not that sneaking around the empty halls like we used to isn't fun, but…"

"You thought it'd be different." Tony nodded, agreeing. "To be engaged."

"I can't say I pictured quite as much hiding."

"Nor I." Tony brought Steve's hand to his lips, kissed his knuckles. "A week between the invasion and the announcement should be plenty of space, I think."

"Absolutely," Steve agreed immediately, sliding his free hand up to the back of Tony's neck. He drew him a little closer, but didn't quite kiss him yet. "End of this week, then?"

Tony closed the gap and kissed him first, answering aloud superfluously, "Sounds perfect."

Though it was only three days until the end of the week, it seemed to drag on for ages. The people who insisted on meeting with him—primarily the council, the reconstruction teams, and assorted concerned citizens—seemed to realize he'd been telling some of them that he was meeting with the others when he had in fact been in no meetings at all, and started coordinating their efforts to pin him down. He was all but escorted from one session to another—which, really, he was the King, he'd be insulted if it wasn't completely warranted—and left with no chances to sneak off whatsoever.

It got to the point that he was almost grateful for Natasha ambushing him.

"You know he was brainwashed."

"Jesus!" Tony jumped, whirled around. If he hadn't recognized her voice he would've pulled his knife. "You shouldn't sneak up on me like that, we had an invasion last week."

"Call it practice for the next one." Natasha shrugged, dropping down from the ledge she'd appeared on. They were three stories up, but Tony didn't bother asking for logistics. Her ability to appear and disappear at will had saved their hides more once. "You heard what I said."

"I did." Tony didn't pretend to misunderstand. "And I haven't dismissed him, have I?"

"No, but you haven't let him near Peter, either." To be fair, he hadn't let anyone that didn't already know about the engagement near Peter, but he supposed Natasha didn't know that. "Or given him a single task this week. You've given him nothing to do and he feels too guilty to bother you by asking—"

"I'm giving him the time he needs to sort his head out, having Loki running amok in it can't have been fun—"

"That's not how Clint operates and you know it," Natasha argued, "He needs something to do, or he'll just drive himself crazy. He's been beating himself up all week, Tony. Aren't you going to put him out of his misery?"

Tony meant to deflect again, but anger seeped through and the words fell apart on his tongue. What came out instead was, "He hit Peter so hard he couldn't breathe."

No change in her expression; Clint had told her, then. "It wasn't his—"

"My seven year old had someone he respects and admires  _hit him so hard he couldn't breathe,"_ Tony spat out. He took a moment, calmed himself. "I know it was beyond his control. I know he feels like shit about it. I wouldn't—I don't blame him and I haven't once considered dismissing him from the knights, but right now seeing him just makes me want to punch him, and that's not good for anyone. I need—"

"You can punch me."

"Goddamn it," Tony swore, spinning back around to face Clint. "What the hell is with you two and just  _appearing_ everywhere?"

"I mean it, Tony," Clint insisted, stepping forward. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. "Hit me. I won't move."

"I'm not going to hit you, Clint." Tony rubbed his forehead. "Natasha, I don't appreciate being entrapped."

"Were you going to seek him out on your own?" She only shrugged a shoulder unapologetically.

"Tony, please." Clint wasn't someone who used 'please' particularly often. He had Tony's attention. "I won't feel right until we're even again."

"You're not in my debt."

"No, but things don't feel right between us and you know it. You said so yourself, seeing me makes you want to punch me. I get that. So let's do it, get it out of your system. Steve got to, why shouldn't you?"

"That's a pretty good reason in and of itself," Tony pointed out, eyeing Clint's still swollen nose. He hadn't known Clint was still walking around with that. "Why haven't you gone to see Bruce?"

"I'm not going to." Clint's jaw clenched stubbornly. Why was it that everyone in Tony's life was so damn stubborn? "I deserve it."

"Now that's just stupid—"

"I do. Steve got me in the nose and Peter got me in the stomach—" Tony's expression must've soured, because Clint quickly clarified. "Not then! Though he fought like hell then too, he's a tough kid and I mean that as a compliment, but I was talking about when I caught up with him earlier this afternoon, let him beat me up a bit—"

"You talked to Peter?" Tony asked sharply.

"Yes, but Sam and Bucky were both there," Clint assured quickly, "I wasn't alone with him for a minute, I promise—"

"That's not…" That wasn't Tony's concern, he didn't actually believe that Clint would ever hurt Peter voluntarily, he'd been thinking of Peter spilling his and Steve's secret. "I'm not uncomfortable with you being around Peter, Clint."

"I'd understand if you were—"

"I'm not," Tony told him firmly, knowing only as he said it aloud that he truly did mean it. "I trust you. If I didn't, I'd have already dismissed you from the knights without a thought."

Clint's brow furrowed. "You…really? You do?"

"It's not you I'm angry with, Clint." Tony sighed. He knew that. He'd wanted a little time away from Clint to get his emotions on the subject better sorted, but the two of them always had to be so damn insistent. "You're a good man who fell victim to a nasty trick, I know that. Loki never did enjoy playing fair."

"So you're not going to punch me?"

"Can't say I'm not tempted," Tony admitted, "But no. And for God's sake, man, go get your nose fixed. King's orders."

"You're sure?" Clint checked once more, though a smile was breaking on his face. Tony clapped his shoulder.

"Very sure. I'm getting a twinge of pain just looking at that thing. Steve sure didn't hold back, did he?"

"Not even a little bit," Clint confirmed with a laugh. He paused, side-eyed Tony a minute. "So, if we're good, does that mean I can tell you that you need to marry the hell out of that guy, like, yesterday?"

"Seconded," Natasha put in.

Clint really was a hard person to stay angry with.

"I can't say I disagree with you," Tony admitted with a chuckle.

"The other day, I caught him drawing you with a ring on your finger," Clint informed him, "When I teased him about it, I swear, I've never seen anyone go redder in my life."

"Huh." Steve had told Tony about bumping into Clint, even about Clint teasing him for what he was drawing, but Steve had just said he'd been drawing Tony. He hadn't mentioned anything about rings being involved. Which Tony supposed wasn't exceptionally odd on its own, but it was occurring to him now that they hadn't discussed rings at all in the near-week since their engagement, despite Peter's slip about Bucky saying that Steve already had a ring in his possession. Tony had brought it up twice before, intending to at least tell Steve the story of the one he himself had, but something had always come up before they could talk at any length. Could that have been purposeful on Steve's part? "Interesting."

"You at least have  _plans_ to propose, don't you?" Clint insisted.

"It's not as if Steve will say no," Natasha pointed out.

"Very true," Tony agreed magnanimously, stepping around them. "You've given me something to think about, actually, now if you'll excuse me—"

"If you're proposing because of me, I get dibs on best man," Clint called after him.

"Rhodey's had dibs for fifteen years, sorry," Tony called back. Rhodey had never actually called dibs, but Tony had known he'd wanted his best man to be Rhodey pretty much as long as he'd known he wanted to get married, so he figured that counted. "You can be our flower girl!"

Clint made a rude gesture at his back.

"I'll put you down for a 'maybe'." Tony laughed.

Steve was supposed to be in training at the moment, but then, so were Clint and Natasha. The training schedules were typically more suggestion than rule, particularly during busy weeks like this one. Tony had a sneaking suspicion he might find Steve loitering around where Tony was supposed to be just then, the meeting hall where assorted councilmembers and potentially the citizen's ambassador—though she'd missed a few meetings herself—were waiting on him. He headed in that direction, carefully steering clear of any of the people he was supposed to meet with. If they saw him they'd only wind up dragging him into the meeting, and Tony found he suddenly had much more important plans for his afternoon. As he'd expected, he found Steve waiting just a hallway away from his meeting.

"Hey you."

"Hey yourself." Steve smiled and stood when he caught sight of Tony, though he did look a touch confused. "You're sneaking out pretty early, was it that dull?"

"Didn't go in yet. Don't intend to." Tony approached him, took Steve's left hand. "I had an interesting chat with Clint and Natasha."

"You talked to Clint?" Steve stepped closer, put his other hand on Tony's waist. "How'd it go?"

"Unless he hands Peter over to another homicidal maniac vying for my throne, I think we'll be alright," Tony joked. His throat still felt a little tight at the thought, but he was getting better at not thinking about it too hard. Jokes were good, were a step up. Steve knew that, and he squeezed Tony's waist.

"That's great, Tony. I'm glad you're talking again."

"Yeah. Funny thing, actually—he told me about how he caught you drawing the other day." Tony squeezed Steve's left hand. "You didn't mention what you'd been drawing."

Tony could see the precise moment Steve remembered; he glanced at their joined hands, then tipped his chin up and drew in a breath. "Ah. That."

"For someone who apparently can't stop thinking about it, you don't seem all that enthused," Tony couldn't help noting.

"It's not that I—" Steve shook his head, moved closer into Tony's space as he rephrased himself. "Don't think for a second I'm not incredibly enthused. I am. There's just something probably I ought to tell you, and it's a little…embarrassing, I suppose, so I've been putting it off."

"I knew it, you're already married," Tony joked.

"No." Steve laughed, raising both hands to cup Tony's face and draw him into a sweet, albeit far too brief kiss. "Nothing like that, I've just been trying to buy some time. Bucky was telling the truth, I do technically already have a ring, but it's not worth much of anything. I'm not even sure if it's an actual wedding ring. I was just at this trading post, maybe six months after I'd left, and I missed you like a limb. You were all I could think about, and this ring in particular reminded me of you. It was your favorite colors, your kind of style…I couldn't resist. So I traded for it."

"Traded?" Steve had left the kingdom with barely anything; all but his most essential possessions had been left behind.

"Well." Steve cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Like I said, the ring itself really isn't worth much to begin with, but…I mean, I was so far from Midgard, I didn't actually _need_ the horse anymore and—"

"You traded a horse for a ring?" Tony couldn't help gaping a little. Then a lot, when something else occurred to him. "You stole Obadiah's horse, I remember because it was one of the fastest we'd ever had, you're telling me you traded a royal thoroughbred for a  _cheap ring?_ What on earth possessed you? You didn't even plan on coming back to me for years yet—"

"It wasn't for you," Steve admitted. Tony couldn't help flinching.

"You said there hadn't been anyone else." It was meant to be an accusation, but Tony just felt like he might be sick. "You told me—"

"No! No no no, Tony, I didn't mean—it wasn't for someone else." Steve's hands dropped to Tony's waist, where he traced circles over Tony's hips like he'd always used to clandestinely if they were sitting near enough and Tony seemed to need reassurance. Steve kissed him, soft and slow, before explaining further. "It was for me. It's embarrassing in retrospect, but I wore it. Not because—I wasn't delusional, I knew we weren't engaged, but it reminded me of you and it meant people didn't try to flirt with me and it was just…easier. But it was just cheap consolation for myself, Tony, it's not a proper engagement ring. At least not one you deserve."

"You could tie a piece of grass around my finger for all I care, you know that," Tony assured him, cupping Steve's cheek and stroking his thumb there fondly. He should've known that was what Steve would get hung up about. "And I guess now I know why Bucky and Sam keep insisting we've been engaged all this time."

"I probably should've worn it more selectively if I'd wanted them to believe me when I said it didn't actually mean anything." Steve ducked his head into Tony's touch. He smiled, soft and a little shy, and for a brief moment Tony saw the boy he'd first fallen for so clearly it was like looking through a window to the past. "I suppose I didn't really want to believe it myself, either. But I want to do better, this time. I've put you through so much, made you wait for so long…I want this one thing to be done right. To be perfect. You deserve—"

"Hey," Tony interrupted gently, because talk like this about what Tony 'deserved', like having Steve in his life wasn't better than anything Tony could've ever asked for, was a little too close to the talk from that awful letter Steve had written all those years ago. "Do us both a favor and forget about what you think I deserve. What matters is what I want and what I want is you, in whatever form that takes. I could give less of a damn about the rings. The rings, the ceremony, the people—they're all footnotes, Steve. What's important is you and me, making it down that aisle and saying those words and spending the rest our lives together. Right?"

Steve's eyes looked a little shiny, for the brief moment Tony could see them before he was pulled into a hard kiss. When Steve released him, after far too short a time, there were no signs of waterworks, but Tony smiled and rubbed his thumb along the corner of Steve's eye anyway. Steve turned his head and caught Tony's hand, pressed a kiss to his palm.

"You're right."

"Aren't I always?"

"More often than is good for your ego, certainly." Steve's smile was a warm contrast to his teasing words. He took Tony's hand. "Walk with me, I'll show you the ring."

"That could be one way to announce things," Tony suggested as he fell into step beside Steve, only half kidding, "Just start walking around with rings on."

"Rings?" Steve asked, "Have you got one too?"

"About that…you remember the part where I proposed to you first?"

Steve laughed. "I might, yes."

"Well, it wasn't quite as impulsive of a decision as it may have seemed at the time. The part where Obadiah tried to kill me messed with my timeline a bit, but I'd been planning on it for a while," Tony admitted.

Steve looked stunned. "You were? But your father would've—"

"Done all sorts of things, I'm sure." Tony sighed, shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't care. You already knew that, I told you when I asked for your hand the first time that I would've run away with you in a heartbeat—"

"It's one thing to say on a whim that you'd run away, you used to do that all the time—"

"Not  _all_ the time—"

"I honestly can't remember a time my mother didn't keep the guest bed made up in preparation for your next attempt." It was true, Tony knew. Sarah had always been kind like that, and had always insisted he stay at least a night or two to blow off some steam and cool his heels a bit before returning home. "But you were actually  _planning_  on abandoning the kingdom?"

"Things are different now," Tony pointed out, "But back then? You were my only consideration. There were no children, no knights, no real responsibilities; we could've written to any of our other friends, though Rhodey would've probably moved to whatever kingdom we did. And my cousins would've taken the throne, or my second-cousins, or whoever else. Your mother was already passed and my family would've been the ones banishing us, so it wasn't as if we had ties to Midgard besides my duty, and back then I just…I didn't  _care,_ Steve, you knew that."

Steve was quiet for a moment. Then, "I suppose I just always assumed it'd been in the heat of the moment. Not that I doubted you loved me, or even that if I'd said yes you wouldn't have followed through, just that…I don't know. That you hadn't really thought it all the way through. Or at all."

"I wanted to do it on our two years anniversary," Tony told him, linking their fingers together. They were in a public hallway now, anyone could stumble upon them, but Tony couldn't bring himself to care. The only people who didn't know at least a little bit about them by this point had to be so oblivious that they wouldn't notice the hand-holding anyway. "There was never a good moment, though. So I thought if I could get you to stay the night for once, then when we woke up together in the morning I could ask. I had…some line, I can't remember it now. Something about keeping you for all the mornings to come."

"Sounds like a hard line to say no to," Steve said softly.

"Mm," Tony hummed vaguely. He didn't want to examine too closely all the ways things could have gone. They were here now, here and in love and getting married just as soon as Tony could manage; that was enough. That was more than enough. "Long and short of it is, I had plans, which meant I had a ring. I kept it. I doubt it'll fit you now, but resizing it shouldn't be hard. I keep meaning to work on it, but—"

"This week's been crazy." Steve squeezed his hand with a smile. "I know. Could I see it anyway?"

"Of course."

Tony reached into his pocket. He'd been carrying it around with him in hopes he'd find a spare moment to work on resizing it, but hadn't yet found his chance. They stopped walking for a moment as he tugged it out and offered it up to Steve, who took it. It wasn't anything exceptional, just a smooth silver band, since diamonds had seemed both vaguely feminine and highly likely to get caught on things. Steve liked simple anyway. To make it special, Tony had engraved it.

"Beloved," Steve echoed the word on the band, rubbing his thumb over the indentations.

"You know, just in case you ever forget." Tony leaned into Steve a little, rested his cheek against Steve's shoulder. "So will you be my beloved betrothed, then?"

Steve spared only the briefest of glances at their empty surroundings before tucking the ring into his pocket and taking Tony by the waist, turning and backing him up against the nearest wall in a fervent kiss. Tony, who knew perfectly well what those particular words did to Steve's libido and had known precisely what he was doing when he'd said them, was ready for Steve's advance, met him with an open mouth and an eager tug of Steve's shirt. Steve hardly broke the kiss at all to give his answer— _you know that I will_ —only parting long enough to say the words before kissing Tony again and sliding his hands up Tony's shirt to hold him closer. Tony gave a roll of his hips, and Steve groaned against his mouth.

There was a door behind them, Tony could feel the handle of it pressing into his back; he fumbled for it. He almost had it, when Steve did something particularly wonderful with his tongue and made Tony's train of thought derail entirely. It took another grind of Steve's hips against his for the handle to press into his back again, reminding him of it. He tried again, finally got it open this time. He stumbled a little as the weight of the door disappeared, but Steve hoisted him up without pause and moved them both into the room.

"Oh, god."

That…wasn't Steve.

Tony broke the kiss and turned in Steve's arms, to find they were now staring down the entirety of the council. And, look at that, the citizen's ambassador had shown up after all. Steve made an unintelligible sort of noise. Tony cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Am I late?"


	18. Chapter 18

Tony’s attempt at humor hung in the air awkwardly.

One of the councilors cleared their throat, suggested that it was possible Tony had forgotten something in his chambers. Another one muttered _decency, perhaps?_ under their breath, but Tony magnanimously ignored that one. Steve didn’t seem intent on putting him down, either; he seemed frozen entirely, staring wide-eyed at the council like he’d encountered a room of trolls instead of a bunch of old, hypercritical assholes. Which was, admittedly, a lot worse than a room of trolls. Tony gave him a subtle kick with the heel of his foot. Steve startled into movement, quickly letting Tony down and taking a good three steps away. He seemed undecided about making a break for the door or staying to help smooth things over. Steve didn’t need to stay for this bit, so Tony jerked his head ever so slightly towards the door. Steve raised his eyebrows just a little, a silent _are you sure?_ and Tony gave a short nod. Steve looked relieved for all of a second, even took another half a step towards the door, before he seemed to realize something and stopped again. Tony couldn’t imagine why, until Steve glanced down pointedly, subtly ran his thumb over his ring finger. It was bare at the moment, but Tony knew what he meant.

Steve was going to be running council meetings with him soon enough. Dashing out on his first—admittedly, extremely awkward—one wouldn’t be a great first impression. Tony gave a small, half-wave of his hand to gesture Steve back. He came and stood at Tony’s side, shoulders back and chin high, like he was about to enter into battle. It was kind of adorable. If he knew how much worse than a battlefield this would be, he wouldn’t have offered to stay.

“Sir Rogers will be joining us today,” Tony announced, clasping a hand to Steve’s shoulder. “Any questions?” Almost every hand at the table raised. “Good, no questions. Excuse our tardiness. Where were you?”

Councilor Hartley was the first to recover, filling Tony—and Steve—in on what they’d missed. Tony took his seat at the head of the table, while Steve went around to the other end where a handful of empty seats were still left. Tony didn’t like the distance. Personal reasons aside, it would be harder to signal Steve this way, and Steve had always had trouble keeping his mouth shut when he needed to. This absolutely constituted a ‘need to’ moment. The council was going to take a while to bounce back from that particular first impression, but if Steve was on his best behavior for a little while it would be easier for them to take him seriously in the long run.

Luckily, Steve was smart enough to know that too. Tony took to counting the number of times Steve’s lips pursed, or his eye would twitch a little, or he’d start drumming his fingers on the table like if he didn’t he might reach out and strangle whoever was speaking. Tony empathized deeply with the feeling. When Councilor Jameson started talking about the year’s low crop production and blamed it on the farmers, insisting they were doing a poor job or even skimming from the yield for themselves, Steve banged a hand on the table. When all eyes turned to him, it was almost comic the way he looked at his hand like it had betrayed him.

“I…respectfully disagree with you, Councilor,” Steve managed, “We had a bad winter and little to no rain so far, that’s hardly their fault.”

“A qualified opinion, I’m sure.” Councilor Everhart rolled her eyes.

“As someone who’s worked in fields, I’d say I know a little about it,” Steve maintained.

“Worked in fields?” Councilor Osborn seemed to find this distasteful. “You’re a knight.”

“I’ve been a lot of things,” Steve answered evasively, “I spent time abroad, and farmers always need help tilling land.”

“I’m sure that’s why you’re here, after all.” Osborn gave a derisive snort, voice heavy with innuendo, “For your knowledge of…tilling land, and such.”

“That’s enough, Osborn,” Tony warned sharply. The room went silent. “The winter was bad and the production was low, seems like simple consequences from where I’m sitting. Move on.”

Steve stared down at the table. They were too far for any sort of signal, though Tony tried to mentally will Steve to understand that he’d been perfectly right to speak and Osborn was an asshole on the best of days. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded. The rest of the meeting went about as well as it typically did, a tiresome but unfortunately necessary requirement of his position, and they were out in just under four hours. Tony liked to think he and Steve were subtle about hanging back, but the way Councilor Kent looked at him on the way out, he doubted it.

Steve stayed seated as Tony approached, and gave a grateful, weary groan when Tony started to rub his shoulders. “How many of these do you have a week?”

“About three or so,” Tony fibbed a little, digging his thumbs into the ridge of Steve’s spine just the way he knew Steve liked. Steve made a relieved noise. Tony felt guilty and amended, “…on a really, really good week.”

Steve laughed, but he just sounded tired. “You know, when you asked me to marry you, you never mentioned we’d have to attend so many meetings.”

“Well, if you’d said yes when I asked the first time, we wouldn’t have had to.” Tony teased, bent down a little to kiss his cheek. “It’s not so bad. Selective listening is key. Also impulse control, insomuch as you’ll need to control the impulse that tells you disposing of them all is a rational idea.”

“Are you saying it’s not a viable option?”

“Let’s call it a last resort.”

Steve chuckled, leaned further back against Tony’s hands and tilted his head up. “I’m not here simply because I…because I’ve ‘tilled your field’, right?”

“Certainly not,” Tony assured him with a grin. “You’re here because you’ve fucked me. And quite well, I might add—”

Steve laughed aloud, brushing Tony’s hands away and turning in his chair to insist, “Come on, I mean it. If I’m not useful at these things—”

“You are.” Tony took Steve’s face in both hands, tipped his chin up. It was oddly reminiscent of how they used to be, Tony formerly the taller of the two. “Your travels have given you more experience than anyone in the room, and you’ve got more empathy for the people beyond these walls in your pinky finger than any of these assholes have in their entire pompous, bloated heads. The politics of it is a little more tricky, but you’re a quick study, always have been. You’ll pick it up in no time.”

Steve only sighed. “They’re never going to respect me the way they do you.”

“Respect me?” Tony laughed, dropping his hands from Steve’s face to come sit in his lap instead. “Beloved, they can hardly stand me. But they know they can’t do a damn thing about me, short of having me assassinated, which I don’t doubt has crossed their minds—”

“Don’t talk like that.” Steve got both arms around him, squeezed Tony’s hip once in something like reprimand.

“Oh, they’d never do it,” Tony assured him, “They don’t like me and they certainly don’t respect me, but they have gotten used to me. And once they realize you’re here to stay, they’ll get used to you too. You’ll see.”

Steve smiled softly, stole a kiss. Tony wasn’t quite sure why until Steve pulled back to tell him, “You’re starting to believe me.”

“About?”

“That I’m here to stay.”

“Well, marrying me only to leave me again _does_ seem a slight bit cruel for your tastes.”

“Told you I’d prove it to you.” Steve just smiled wider and kissed him again, soft and sweet and utterly perfect.

“Guess now that you’ve proved it you can start slacking off,” Tony teased, “Only telling me how much you love me two dozen times a day instead of three.”

“Blasphemy,” Steve murmured, faux-serious, his lips barely a brush away from Tony’s. “I would never dare.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tony told him affectionately.

Steve brushed his thumb along Tony’s jaw. “I’m just trying to find the perfect words. I figure if I say enough, I might stumble upon them.”

“What sort of words are you looking for?”

“How you make me feel. How much you mean to me. How damned lucky I am to so much as have you in my life at all, much less to love you, to be loved _by_ you—”

“I don’t need words for all that.” Tony curled into Steve’s hold, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to the side of his throat. “Just stay with me, beloved. That’ll carry more weight than words ever could.”

“I will.” Steve tightened his hold. “I promise.”

“You know, one of these days I’m going to get you to realize that I’m the lucky one,” Tony warned, “It’ll sneak up on you, too. I’m crafty like that.”

“The sun will fall out of the sky before I believe anything of the sort.” Steve laughed. Tony felt the warm reverberation of it against his cheek, and knew the truth. He just smiled.

“Whatever you say, beloved.”

* * *

“Tony’s going to kill you,” Clint assured her. “And not even a nice death, like a beheading, or a stabbing. He’s going to make it last, make it hurt—”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Quit whining and toss me another garland.” 

“I’m already on thin ice with the man, I really don’t think I should be participating in—”

“Garland, Clint.”

“Obviously I’m getting it for you, okay,” he muttered, handing her the last of them. Though the garlands were now finished, there were a hundred other things left to hang out or set up or whatever else before the church hall would be ready. Clint knew full well he’d be helping Natasha with all of it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t complain a little. “I just want it stated for the record that I’m officially not on board with this.”

“What sort of record do you imagine is being kept right now?”

“The metaphorical one,” Clint dismissed her, “Not the point. The point is that when Tony finds out you stole his wedding, the wedding I should point out he’s apparently waited _fifteen years for,_ he’s going to kill you gruesomely. And then me, for helping you decorate. And also probably for handing his kid over to a homicidal maniac, though that one’s my bad.”

“Bouquet.”

“What?”

“The large gathering of flowers I want to put on the ends of the—”

“I know what a bouquet is, Tasha, were you listening at all?” Clint demanded, but handed over the flowers.

“I was. I just think you’re overlooking the obvious.”

“Which is?”

“That our King, who has many good qualities that do not happen to include excessive amounts of patience, has been waiting fifteen years to get married.”

“And?”

“And he’s really not going to care how it happens at this point so long as it happens and it happens soon.” Natasha paused, then admitted, “Also, they both have incredibly poor taste and deserve a better wedding than whatever eyesore they would wind up planning themselves.”

“You don’t think they’d enjoy their eyesore?”

“They’d enjoy a pigpen if they were finally getting hitched in it, Clint, I don’t think their happiness is particularly dependent on color schemes. Mine, on the other hand…”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Is of course dependent on your longtime friend finding love and happiness.”

“And having a lovely, color-coordinated wedding to celebrate it, yes.” Natasha gestured for the next bouquet.

“Going to kill you,” Clint reiterated, but retrieved it for her and handed it over.

“Please, he’s in too much of a love-stupor to so much as frown these days, he’s hardly going to kill me.” She scoffed. Clint could admit that was kind of a fair point. “Besides, he knows full well I’m planning his birthday, it’s not my fault he didn’t ask what my theme would be.”

“And what are we calling this theme, exactly? ‘Wedding’?”

“I was thinking ‘Steve’, but ‘wedding’ works.”

“You’re throwing him a Steve-themed birthday.” Clint snorted. Knowing Tony, that was probably his dream theme anyway. “Rhodey and Happy are going to be pissed you didn’t involve them.”

“Who said I haven’t? It was Rhodey’s idea in the first place.”

“Bucky and Sam—”

“Are also fully aware. How do you think I got all the groomsmens’ garb fitted?” Natasha shot him a look. “They, and the others, will be here soon to help move the chairs and tables.”

Clint paused, realization dawning. “Wait, am I the last to know?”

Natasha shrugged, unrepentant. “I haven’t told Peter yet, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Being lumped in with the royal blabbermouth does not make me feel better, no.” Clint scowled.

“Stop being petty, you would’ve blurted it out to Tony the minute you saw him. We’ve been planning this for weeks now; you’d have been too excited to keep quiet that long.” She wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. She tugged a single flower out of the bouquet he’d handed her. It seemed just as pristinely white as the others to him, but she frowned and tossed it at Clint. “You’re here now, go taste the cakes. And get rid of that while you’re at it.”

“How am I supposed to know what they—”

“Tony’s got a sweet tooth a mile wide, just pick whatever gives you the most cavities.”

“What about Steve?”

“I don’t know what he likes,” Natasha admitted, “But if Tony likes it, Steve isn’t going to say a word.”

It was true enough, so Clint handed Natasha the last of the bouquets, placed the not-quite-perfect rose in the discard pile, and headed over to the banquet table. There were fifteen slices of cake lined up, ready and waiting. He took a bite of each, then a couple more—just to compare, of course—before landing on the seventh choice, a decadently layered chocolate cake that made Clint’s mouth water just to smell. Rhodey entered the room just as Clint was finishing up.

“White?” He snickered. “Are we sure that’s appropriate?”

“It’s traditional.” Natasha shrugged. “Besides, it’s more of an accent, we’ll overwhelm it with lots of royal purples and golds.”

“That’ll look nice. Hey, Clint, good to have you on board.” Rhodey greeted him, observed the cakes. “Go for something chocolate, Steve doesn’t like lemon or strawberry and Tony thinks vanilla’s bland.”

“Already done.” Clint held up his selection. Lacking a fork, Rhodey scooped a bit up with his thumb and tasted it, nodding his approval almost immediately.

“Good choice.”

Bucky was next to enter, followed not long after by Phil, Happy, and Bruce. Sam was on Peter-watching duty, but between the six of them and the guard members that came by to assist whenever they were off shift, the hall was decorated to perfection by sunset. Despite this, everyone was antsy; there was still plenty left to do, and just two days to do it in. It was Tony’s birthday, their wedding, and Steve’s sort-of coronation all rolled into one, after all, which seemed to mean there were three times as many things to prepare for and the event would need to be three times as spectacular.

Three times the work could’ve easily been a drag, but everyone wanted so badly for things to go well that it really didn’t matter. Clint, at least, would’ve worked ten times as hard if it meant giving Tony the kind of day he deserved. Steve was growing on Clint, and the way he looked at Tony helped, but it was Tony who had gone out of his way for Clint again and again throughout the years. He’d done it for all of them, without so much as a second thought.

When Clint had first come to Midgard, he’d had no noble seal, no official training, no connections; the only thing he _did_ have was plans to steal from the royal treasury, which didn’t exactly count in his favor. Any other king in any other land would’ve banished him at least, likely even executed him. Tony had given him the chance to redeem himself—not even that, but to make himself greater than he’d ever been in the first place. Becoming a knight, pledging himself to a cause worthy of his loyalty, meeting and befriending the people who were now his family…Clint owed Tony everything. They all did, in one way or another. The least they could do was plan a damn good wedding for the man.

Clint was in charge of coordinating with the kitchen, which proved to be a much tougher endeavor than he’d imagined. It was apparently impossible for many of the kitchen staff to grasp the concept of _not_ discussing menus with Tony, so roughly 70% of his job was grabbing wandering kitchen staff by the shirt, hauling them back down to the kitchen, and reminding them of all the creative places he could stick arrows into anyone who ruined the surprise. The other 30% was calming down the head chef, who went into a tizzy approximately every ten minutes about how what he’d previously started working on wasn’t good enough.

While Clint dealt with that, the others were busy coordinating arrivals. Tony kept good relations with many neighboring kingdoms, kingdoms that would’ve been extremely offended to not receive invitations to such a monumentally important affair; as such, Natasha and Phil had worked with Nick to craft and send official invitations weeks ago. They’d stressed the importance of secrecy and asked everyone who would be staying in the castle to arrive no earlier than the day before, but that still meant keeping Tony and Steve far, far away from the front entrance for an entire day, and keeping any guests in their rooms as much as possible.

Rhodey stole Tony, Bucky handled Steve, and Jarvis distracted Peter while Sam, Natasha and Phil coordinated guests. All available guards were on guest duty; fetching things, bringing meals, anything to keep people happy and content right in their rooms so they could minimize potential collisions. When out of their rooms, Bruce provided invisibility spells and used his map to make certain nobody’s paths crossed that weren’t supposed to. Thor in particular was being impossible; he insisted he needed to give Tony advice before the wedding, though Clint had the sneaking suspicion from the look on Thor’s face it was going to be more of an I-told-you-so moment.

In spite of guest trouble and wandering kitchen staff, they managed to get to the day of without anyone blowing it too badly. Natasha accidentally left one of her four trillion lists within Peter’s view, but the poor kid misread her atrocious handwriting and thought “wedding plans” said “wendigo plans”. He did go running right to daddy, but it was only to ask if wendigos ate children or if he’d be safe. Tony wisely pointed out that if Natasha had plans, they’d all be safe. When Tony later asked about her “wendigo plans”, Natasha immediately answered with her plans for next Wednesday. It was one of her better saves.

The morning of, Rhodey and Bucky had the hardest jobs of all; they had to somehow get ahold of Steve and Tony’s rings. Everyone knew the sentimental idiots _had_ rings, even if they weren’t wearing them, but Rhodey and Bucky both reported being unable to get the two to part with them for more than half a second. They’d tried the “let me look at it for a minute—oh, did you need it back? Haha y’know I forgot I was holding it at all” bit, the “are you sure it fits? Let me try it on—oops it’s stuck!” bit, even the “hold it, drop it, slip it into a pocket while ‘looking’ and pretend I can’t find it” bit, but nothing worked. On the last one, Bucky complained that Steve caught the ring before it could even hit the ground, and Tony had seen it in Rhodey’s hand before he could slip it into his pocket. Eventually, Natasha grew frustrated with them and sent Clint in.

It was easy enough to figure out where they were keeping the rings, since neither of them could keep their hands out of a particular pocket for more than a couple minutes at a time. Clint felt pretty bad pickpocketing them—Steve noticed while Clint was still in the room that it was gone, and the look on his face was _awful—_ but reminded himself that the payoff in a couple hours would be totally worth it.

He dropped off the rings with Jarvis. They’d told Peter earlier that morning about the wedding, and keeping him far away from Tony had been a near-Olympian task since. Clint admired Jarvis’ endurance. When Clint stopped by, Peter was busy describing what kind of walk he wanted to do up the aisle—he was thinking a march, apparently—and took only a brief second of amazed silence to look at the rings before switching over to talking a hundred miles an hour about how careful he would be with them, how he wouldn’t lose or drop them, to please please _please_ Jarvis just let him hold them for one quick minute?

At Jarvis’ long-suffering, albeit amused _absolutely not,_ Clint laughed and quickly ducked back out. He met up with Natasha, who informed him that both Steve and Tony, who were supposed to be getting dressed for the “birthday party”, had now become utterly useless because they were busy searching high and low for what they would only say was, “something really important, just—don’t worry about it, okay, I’ll get dressed later, go away”.

This put the plan back about a half hour, but in the end, Bucky and Rhodey were able to talk them into at least getting dressed and coming to see the party for a few minutes before returning to their searches. Bucky and Rhodey escorted them individually to the ceremony hall, where they met up with Clint and Sam. Natasha, the other knights, and half the kingdom awaited inside, but Steve and Tony were busy stumbling over themselves to guilty explain to the other about not taking this the wrong way and how they would absolutely keep looking and how this wasn’t indicative about anything. Thankfully, before either of them could actually say the words ‘ring’ or ‘lost’ and get confused about how they had both managed to lose their rings in the span of an hour, Bucky and Rhodey shoved them through the ceremony hall doors.

They were greeted by near-deafening calls of _surprise;_ Clint hadn’t realized how many people Natasha had invited until that exact moment. Tony seemed pretty taken aback as well.

“This many people came just for my birthday? I’m more popular than I thought,” Tony joked under his breath to Rhodey, who clapped him on both shoulders and turned him a little. He aimed Tony’s gaze to the right, where the doors to the church hall were open and decorated in prelude for what was to come.

“Not just your birthday, Tones.”

Anything further seemed to die on Tony’s tongue. Beside him Steve inhaled sharply and glanced back at Bucky, who grinned and nodded proudly. Tony was the first to regain the ability to speak, though his voice sounded a little rough as he asked,

“Who?”

“Who’re you gonna marry? Well, we were thinking it’d be this lug, but if you have someone else in mind…” Bucky teased. The crowd laughed, while Steve elbowed him.

“No, who…who did all this?” Tony looked too touched to register any of it, instead glancing over to meet Natasha’s eyes. She tipped her chin in Rhodey’s direction.

“It was Rhodes’ idea.”

“Rhodey.” Tony sounded genuinely choked up now, something Clint had never in all his years at the castle heard before. He threw both arms around Rhodey and pulled him into a tight hug. “James, jesus, I can’t even—”

“You don’t have to do a thing, Tones. Just…get hitched, already. Be happy.” Rhodey’s softer smile turned to a flat out grin. “And have a kick-ass birthday.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Sam announced, bumping Steve’s shoulder with one hand and raising his other to gesture to the band. “Let’s get that music going!”

“Remember,” Phil called over the music, “One hour!” 

“Have some appetizers, socialize, then find your seats,” Natasha agreed. The guests returned to milling about as the music kicked up again, seeming to know better than to approach Tony or Steve at that particular moment in time.   

“We’re getting married in an _hour?_ ” Steve echoed, stunned. He stared at Tony, seeming both amazed and overjoyed, until he froze up suddenly in a way that would’ve had Clint worried if he hadn’t then broken into the biggest smile Clint had ever seen on a human being. Steve reached for Tony, stopped himself, then threw that to the wind as he realized their secret was pretty far beyond out by that point. He took Tony by the arms, smile still wide as hell. “Tony, we’re getting married on your birthday.”

“I guess we are.” Tony smiled back, pleased, but apparently not pleased enough for Steve, who shook his head and emphasized,

“Tony, _your birthday_ is going to be _our anniversary_.” 

Tony’s eyes went wide. Clint still didn’t totally understand why that was so special, but it seemed to make them pretty happy if the kiss Tony pulled Steve into was any indication. He moved around the ecstatic couple to go find Natasha.

“You did good,” he told her. She shrugged a shoulder. 

“It was Rhodey’s—”

“Idea, yeah. And it was your planning that turned that great idea into all this.”He waved a hand at their surroundings. The hall looked amazing, the appetizers were delicious, the guests were enjoying themselves and eager for what was to come; they still had a couple hoops to jump through, but the party was going to be a success and they all knew it. He knew she preferred the background, but that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve some acknowledgement for how damn hard she’d worked these past weeks. “You did good, Nat.” 

She smiled. “Thanks. Now all we have to do is get them down the aisle.”

“I get the feeling we’re not going to be particularly needed, there.” Clint snorted, glancing back at them.

They’d separated, at least slightly, and were now being bombarded by guests though neither of them appeared to mind. They were holding hands, occasionally exchanging glances, smiling and squeezing the other’s hand like they couldn’t believe their luck. He thought it might’ve just been wedding bliss, until it belatedly occurred to him this was also probably the first time they’d ever been able to hold hands in public. They had only a moment before Thor all but tackled Tony and his and Steve’s hands were separated. Even from a ways away, Clint could hear Thor’s booming laughter.

“Did I not assure you that you would find your happiness, my friend? You were always meant to return to each other in the end!” Thor said, rather smugly in Clint’s opinion. Tony just laughed.

“I’ve never been happier to admit I was wrong,” Tony agreed magnanimously. 

“This fool thought you didn’t return his devotion,” Thor informed Steve, somewhat cheekily. It was only when Steve grinned instead of taking offence that Clint remembered he, like Tony, had also known Thor since childhood. “He’s clearly never seen how you look at him.”

“Clearly.” Steve agreed wholeheartedly, bumping Tony’s shoulder. “A fool indeed.”

“Hey now.” Tony huffed a bit. Steve leaned in and kissed his cheek, whispered something. Tony’s smile could’ve lit the whole room.

“It pleases me to no end to see you so happy, my friends.” Thor clasped them each by the shoulder. “I have hoped to see this day for many, many years.”

“You and everyone in all nine kingdoms, buddy,” Rhodey put in with a grin. “But you know who’s happiest of us all?”

“Me?” Steve and Tony said at the same time.

“That was nauseatingly adorable, but wrong.” Sam gestured to someone behind the door, and Peter shot around the corner like a bat out of hell.

“Daddy Daddy Daddy!” Peter flung himself into Tony’s arms. “You’re getting _married!”_

Tony laughed happily, scooped him up. “I guess I—” 

“To _Steve!”_

“Pete, you knew—”

“In like an _hour!”_

“Sure seems like—”

“Right _here!”_

“Peter—”

“Today, right now, with _me!”_ Peter held up his hands to show off both rings. Tony did a visible double-take, and Steve seemed to have to restrain himself from snatching them right out of Peter’s hands. “I’m the ring bear _,_ I get to bear rings and be right there with you—”

“Where did—” 

“—even though Jarvis said I don’t get vows, but I think I’m gonna make some anyway cause I’m a part of the family too and—”

“Peter, _pause,_ ” Tony insisted firmly. “Where did you get those?”

“Clint gave them to Jarvis who gave them to me once we got here, but he says I have to give them back to him after I show you so I don’t lose them before the ceremony, cause—”

Tony extracted the rings from Peter’s iron grip, told him gently, “Honey, I love you, but these are very important and I’m going to hold on to them myself.”

“All due respect, sir,” Jarvis intervened, “I believe the plan is to have them presented to you during the ceremony.”

Tony hesitated, hand still clutched protectively around the rings. “There’s no need for that, Steve and I just hold onto them, put them on ourselves when the time comes.”

“You don’t want me to bring them to you?” Peter’s eyes started to well up. “But that’s my only part, don’t you want me there?”

“Hey, no, of course I do, baby,” Tony shushed. “But these are very precious to me, I…” He glanced at Steve, who gave a small nod. Clint would’ve missed it if he’d blinked. Tony turned to Jarvis, reluctantly passing over the rings with a plea of, “Take care.”

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis smiled warmly. “Many congratulations to the both of you.”

“Thank you.” Tony smiled back, giving Peter a squeeze. “And thanks for watching him this morning, I can’t imagine that was easy.”

“He’s nothing compared to another persistent little fellow I used to know.” Jarvis sounded amused, and Clint thought he was talking about Tony until he continued, “Intent on being everywhere the prince was at all times, rules and schedules and everything else be damned. Could’ve knocked him over with a breeze, but couldn’t lose him if we’d tried.”

“I seem to have a vague recollection of someone like that.” Tony nodded, playing along with a grin. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Steve?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Steve gave an innocent little hum, swaying into Tony so he could kiss his temple. Tony tipped his head up a bit, whispered into Steve’s ear something Clint couldn’t catch. Steve laughed, whispered something back. Tony snorted.

Clint thought back to the night they’d recovered from nightshade poisoning. They’d had a few awkward moments, but by the end of the night they were nearly talking over each other in their enthusiasm to engage, finishing each other’s sentences and switching tracks quicker than anyone else could hope to follow. It had been strange and even confusing to see after weeks of defensive, passive-aggressive behavior, but Rhodey had been right. The universe really had been righting itself.


	19. Chapter 19

They were separated before the ceremony, something about tradition and or superstition, but the moment Tony was left alone he slipped out the back door and headed in the direction he’d last seen Bucky and Sam carting Steve. They bumped into each other halfway there. They didn’t bother with preamble, meeting in a kiss and holding tight.

“Happy birthversary, sweetheart,” Steve told him, smile wide as anything.

“Told you it’d catch on,” Tony gloated, though he was too happy to be properly smug.

“Sure did.” Steve let him have his due, pressing their foreheads together. “Less than an hour, god. Are you ready?” Tony raised both eyebrows. Steve laughed. “Alright, dumb question.”

“Very.” Tony leaned in a little, gave him a peck. “Got your vows all set?”

“Only for the past decade. Few changes here and there, but I’ve got them. You?”

“I might’ve thrown together a little something one of the several dozen times I pictured today. Didn’t imagine quite so many people, though.”

“To be honest with you, I don’t think I ever bothered imagining so much as a priest.” Steve laughed, hugging Tony closer. “Every time I pictured it we wound up alone on an island somewhere? Somehow?” Tony laughed. “No, really! We’d be all set for the honeymoon, too—we could swim naked in the ocean, lie out in the sand and sun, maybe dig up a little treasure…”

“You and your pirates.” Tony smiled, ran his thumb along the beginnings of laugh lines that crinkled up by Steve’s eyes. “Someday, beloved.”

“Someday. But for today…” Steve leaned in real close, just short of an actual kiss. “It sounds to me like we’ve got a wedding to get to.”

“From betrothed to married in barely a week,” Tony teased, “Some might say we rushed.”

“Mm, yes, we’ve been very impulsive.” Steve played along with a hum and a nod. “Perhaps we’re not truly ready, a week is hardly enough time to get to know one another. I’d like to be sure I know who I’ll be spending the rest of my life with, after all.”

“As would I.” Tony walked backwards, tugging Steve along with a finger hooked in his shirt collar. “Ought to be sure we’re…compatible, as well.”

“Absolutely. Very important.” Steve agreed, getting his meaning and picking up the pace.

They slipped into one of the nearby rooms, an empty guest suite. Tony crowded Steve up against the nearest wall, laying kisses along his throat and down his collarbone as he began to untuck Steve’s shirt. He slid his hands over the warm skin there, then tucked his thumbs into the hem and gave a tug as he knelt down. Steve laughed, hauled him back up.

“Remember the last time we tried this while standing?”

Tony laughed, remembering quite well, following as Steve led him over to the bed instead. “What if someone’s sleeping here tonight?”

Steve shot him a sultry look, chin tipped down with his eyes looking up through his lashes, and any illusion of self-control Tony had been holding on to got thrown right out the window. Though they moved fast, it took unfortunately no time at all for them to be interrupted by a loud banging. First on a door down the hall, then one door closer to them, one closer, theirs, the next; outside, they heard voices.

“Keep trying, they have to be somewhere in this hall.” Natasha.

“Goddamn it, you assholes!” Bucky.

“We have ten minutes to go and like a thousand guests, get out here!” Sam.

“Let’s go, wrap it up!” Rhodey.

“To be continued,” Tony promised, bending forward to attempt one last dirty little trick, a twist of his tongue he knew drove Steve mad, before pulling off and sitting back.

“I’m going to kill them,” Steve muttered, more than slightly breathless.

“We can always call the wedding off.” Tony grinned up at him cheekily, still on his knees. “If you’d prefer to finish.”

“Loki would have to storm the castle again to get me to call this off.” Steve’s fingers continued carding through Tony’s hair, gentle and affectionate. “Even then I’d have the priest just declare us first, and we could try again for a proper version after.”

“I take it you find our compatibility sufficient, then?” Tony teased.

“Eh…” Steve shrugged, waved a hand loosely. Tony flicked his still-bare thigh. Steve softened, drew Tony forward into a kiss by the back of his head. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They exited once they got Steve’s pants back on, running almost immediately into the search party. While the others scoffed at them Natasha went about cleaning them up, straightening Steve’s shirt collar and combing Tony’s hair back into place with her fingers.

“There, you now look at least slightly less debauched,” she decided, a smile curving at the edge of her lips. “Just keep it in your pants a few more hours, we planned all along to sneak you out once the party got going.”

“They might notice the absence of their king.” Steve pointed out, though he sounded a little regretful of the fact.

“Of their kings, I’m sure.” Natasha emphasized the plural. “But I doubt they’d expect much less, today.”

“And besides that, who cares?” Rhodey agreed. “It’s your wedding day, you get to spend it however you want.”

“Well, after this part.” Bucky caught Steve by the arm, Rhodey doing the same to Tony. “This part you follow to the letter, or Natasha gets stabby.”

They were steered back towards the church hall, directed through the open doors and whispered quick, last minute instructions. The music was already playing—they were a bit late after all, it seemed, but Tony was too enthused now to be bothered to care—as they were rushed down the aisle. Bucky and Steve walked arm in arm together while Rhodey and Tony did the same, until they reached the halfway point.

“You know I love you, man,” Rhodey said quietly into Tony’s ear, as he pulled him into a tight hug and gave him a clap on the back. “I’m so goddamn happy for you I can’t even put it into words.”

Tony squeezed him in return. Bucky finished whatever he was saying to Steve, then they both dropped back while Tony and Steve finished walking the rest of the way together.

Tony would love to say he remembered every little detail of the service, but in truth it was mostly lost on him. _We’re getting married_ kept rolling around in his head, over and over, stuck on a loop that just couldn’t seem to quite make sense. A month ago they hadn’t been so much as on speaking terms; today they were getting married. It seemed disjointed somehow, unbelievable, like any moment someone was going to pop out and yell _gotcha!_ So he stared at Steve, took him in. He absorbed every detail and committed the very picture of him to memory, like if he didn’t it might be taken away from him. Steve’s wedding garb was well-fitted and his hair neatly combed, but it was his expression, bright and enthusiastic, that Tony couldn’t tear his gaze from. Something about his eyes, about the way he was looking at Tony, transcended everything else. In them Tony saw the boy he’d met, the friend he’d become infatuated with, the lover he’d been willing to risk everything for; he saw the man that had returned for him, saw the kind of husband Steve would strive so hard to be. Tony could’ve hardly looked away if he’d tried.

Ten, twenty, thirty years from now, Tony wouldn’t remember the words. He’d forget the color of the flowers and that they were late to the service and how Happy had started crying barely three lines in. He’d forget the time of day, the food served, the sound of the music, though at the time he’d sworn he’d remember it all forever. But ten, twenty, thirty years from now, Tony would remember every expression Steve made that day. He’d remember how good Steve looked—if not, perhaps, exactly what he’d been wearing—and how close he leaned, how with every minute that went by they found themselves closer together, how even the briefest of ceremonies had felt like too long to be apart. He’d remember the way Steve couldn’t stop looking at him either, and the hitch in both their breathing when the priest finally called Peter forward to present them with their rings.

Peter beamed at them both, trying to do some kind of march forward but getting too excited and bouncing a little, making it look a bit more like a skip. He held up the rings, gave one first to Tony and then to Steve. Tony squeezed his shoulder in thanks. Once Peter turned around to go back to his seat by Jarvis, they swapped rings so they had the correct ones. Steve held his hand a beat longer than necessary, took a deep breath to steady himself. He spoke first.

“I vow.” Steve’s voice was low and sincere, though the corner of his mouth quirked up just a bit. “To always put your armor on the left side of the table.” Tony couldn’t help a startled laugh. He’d forgotten about that. There were slightly confused murmurs from the crowd, but this wasn’t for them; this was for him. “To check every lilypad beforehand, to protect you from any and all fire-breathing rabbits, and to always be the one to hand you the stick.” Tony thought he might still be laughing, until Steve reached up and cupped his cheek, wiped something away with his thumb. It was then Tony realized he was crying. “I vow to answer you before jumping, to not become a merman without you, and to never, ever tell anyone what you were going to do to that poor frog.” Slightly confused laughter from the crowd. Tony just shot Steve a watery smile and Steve mirrored it, his voice wavering a little now. “I vow to believe you about the faeries.”

“They were real,” Tony insisted, and god, he’d forgotten all about the faeries. Steve laughed softly, took his hands and squeezed.

“I believe you. Because I believe in you, in us, whether faeries had any say in it or not. Because I believe we were meant for each other, in this universe and every other, and I vow to trust in that even when things are difficult—especially when things are difficult—because I love you. I love you more than I could ever put into words, sweetheart, so I vow to stay.” Steve took his left hand, slipping the ring over his finger. Tony gave up pretending he wasn’t crying. Steve smiled, soft and small like an inside joke. “I vow that I got you and you got me, so long as we both shall live.”

The crowd was more than a little confused now, but Tony could hardly breathe through the lump in his throat. Steve clasped both of Tony’s hands, steadying him, and Tony took a deep breath of his own.

“There’s a universe,” he started, and Steve immediately began to choke up. “You can’t cry too, Steve, god,” he teased, and Steve gave a watery laugh as he nodded for Tony to continue. “There’s a universe,” Tony repeated, shooting Steve a small smile that asked if he’d like to interrupt again. “Where you and I end up together. Where we fall in love too fast and too young and it makes us feel invincible, makes us feel like nothing could ever change what we have. Then things do happen, things that shake us to the core and make us realize that we’re not untouchable. That it’s dangerous to love someone you can lose.” Steve was tearing up again now, and Tony could hardly look at him without doing the same, but one of them had to keep talking so he steadied his voice and kept going. “And we do lose each other, for a little while there. And it—it’s awful. It’s the worst. But we find each other again. And some things have changed, because some things were always going to, but the important things haven’t, because they never will. This is that universe, beloved.” Tony took Steve’s left hand, gave a squeeze before slipping on the ring. “And I vow to you that I wouldn’t change it even if I could. I vow that I wouldn’t want time travel, or a different universe, or a rewritten story. I wouldn’t change a single moment of it, because those moments led us to this one, and this one leads to the rest of our lives. I love you, beloved. I’ll love you the rest of my life.”

There was a beat of silence as the priest made sure they were finished, before announcing, “I now pronounce—”

They were both moving as soon as the sentence began, catching each other in a kiss Tony felt right down to the tips of his toes. Married, they were married, they were full blown no holds barred completely and utterly _married,_ and it had only taken them twenty-three years. Tony would do it all a hundred times over again if it gave him this moment.

There were wolf whistles and hollering and almost thunderous applause—that might have been Thor alone, to be fair—but Tony couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t the man standing in front of him. His husband. From now until the end of time, ‘death’ and ‘as long as both shall live’ be damned. He dug his fingers into Steve’s shirt and drew him closer when it seemed he might dare to move away; Steve sank into his hold.

“Husband,” Steve murmured wonderingly against his mouth. It sounded both like an address and a revelation.

“Husband,” Tony echoed back, stroking a thumb over Steve’s lower lip.

God, he was already counting down the minutes until they could sneak away. He wasn’t going to be able wait until they were given permission and an escort out, that was for certain. In the meantime, they let themselves be swept up in the crowd of happy guests and celebratory cheer. First up was dinner and speeches—and wine, plenty and plenty of wine—starting with Rhodey and Bucky as the best men.

Their speeches were touching, as well as hilarious and more than a little embarrassing, but Tony hadn’t doubted for a minute that Rhodey would remind him of the Toadstool Incident. Considering the size of the crowd Natasha decided to impose a strict limit on speeches, with an exception for Thor because he decided he was going to give one and no one could actually manage to stop him. It was exactly as unreservedly, enthusiastically heartfelt as Tony would have expected. He applauded maybe a little too loudly, the product of really very good wine and the fact that this was very possibly the best day of his life, but Steve whooped so to be fair he wasn’t the loudest.

After speeches, Happy and Phil brought out the cake. Tony and Steve cut into it together, and Tony briefly entertained romantic notions about feeding Steve the first bite. He should’ve known better. In the time it took him to glance aside and pick up a fork, Steve scooped some frosting with his fingers and smeared it across Tony’s face. Tony gaped a little, so naturally Steve then put his frosting-covered thumb in Tony’s mouth. It could’ve been sexy, but Steve was struggling so hard not to laugh Tony couldn’t help laughing either, even as he licked the frosting off Steve’s thumb.

Things got a bit…sidetracked, from there. By the time they were led out to the floor for their first dance, despite their best efforts to clean up, they both still had frosting and cake crumbs all over. On their way to the floor, Tony leaned in and kissed the smudge by Steve’s ear. He missed, a little; had he mentioned the wine was fantastic?

“You taste sweeter than I remember.” He nuzzled his cheek against Steve’s.

“You’re one to talk.”  Steve brushed his fingers through Tony’s goatee, came away with bits of cake.

The music started up, a soft, slow song Tony didn’t recognize. Though Phil had come by their table earlier to ask if there was a special song they’d like relayed to the band, they hadn’t had one. They’d never been able to dance together in public before. Steve stopped messing with his goatee, cupped his chin instead and tipped him up for a kiss. Tony leaned into it, savoring the moment.

“May I have this dance?” Steve asked him after far too short a beat, taking Tony in his arms even as he spoke.

“Seems like you already know the answer,” Tony teased. He let himself be drawn in anyway.

Steve smiled. “I’m feeling pretty good about my chances.”

They’d danced once or twice before, but never to music—music required players, players could have seen them—so they were both more than a little out of practice with the steps. Steve was larger so he took lead, though they swayed more than they actually danced. Soon enough others began to filter onto the floor, and they were enveloped by the crowd. Steve bent his head, pressed a kiss by Tony’s ear.

“Do you think—”

Tony immediately nodded into his shoulder, and Steve subtly began guiding their dancing out of the crowd. They managed to slip away with little fanfare; the party had really gotten started and the dance floor was crowded enough no one seemed to realize they were no longer on it. Steve took Tony’s hand and they made their way out of the hall, sticking by the walls to avoid getting noticed. At one point Natasha looked like she was about to turn around, so Steve threw an arm around Tony and quickly pulled him to the ground. Tony was pretty sure Steve meant to have them crouch under the buffet table to hide, but Steve yanked him too fast and they wound up fumbling instead, hitting the floor and bumping around together. Tony couldn’t help laughing, a little too loudly. Steve quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. Then he started laughing too, so Tony covered his mouth in turn. They sat under the table, huddled and snickering uncontrollably into each other’s palms, until they saw Natasha’s feet appear and come to a stop directly in front of them.

“I take it you’re ready to leave, boys?”

Tony couldn’t stop laughing. Steve tried to clear his throat, answer for them both, “Yes?”

Tony laughed harder. “Was that a question?”

“No, I mean—maybe?”

 _“Maybe_ you’re ready to leave?”

“Maybe it was a quest—you know what, shut up, husband.”

“You shut up, husband.”

Steve bumped his shoulder and Tony bumped him back, then Steve poked his stomach and Tony poked his chest and Steve wrapped an arm around his waist to haul him into a messy, sideways kiss. When they parted again, Natasha and her feet were gone. Tony laughed—alright, giggled—into Steve’s shoulder. Steve brought a hand up, ran his fingers through Tony’s hair a minute before pulling him into another kiss. They had to stop again because Steve kept laughing into his mouth.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Steve tried, going for another kiss.

“Stop laughing!” Tony insisted when he did it again.

“I’m trying!”

“Well, you’re failing,” Tony informed him.

“It’s just, it’s our wedding, and…” Steve tried to explain, but started laughing again halfway through. He was laughing so hard now he bowed over, putting his head in Tony’s lap. Tony flicked him, but he was snickering too.

“What, and that’s hilarious?”

“The part where we wound up hiding under the banquet table at our own wedding kind of is.”

Tony snorted, tried to hold back, but inevitably failed. “Alright, maybe a little.”

“A lot!”

“A lot,” he agreed, bending down to plant a kiss on the back of Steve’s head. “C’mon, let’s bust out for real.”

“Done,” Steve agreed eagerly, hoisting himself up and extending a hand back to Tony to help him out from under the table. Tony accepted, and Steve groped him on the way up.

“I have such a gentleman for a husband,” Tony told him, “Maybe you should meet him sometime.”

“Hilarious.” Steve grinned, groping him again as he leaned in for a kiss. His next words were muffled against Tony’s mouth as he seemed to forget he couldn’t kiss and talk at the same time. “You’re so hilarious.”

“And you’re so drunk.”

“So’re you.”

“So’re me,” Tony agreed. He paused, reconsidered his phrasing. “Wait. I?”

“You,” Steve agreed vaguely, nuzzling at Tony’s cheek, “As in _you_ should come to bed with _me.”_

Well, Tony was hardly going to argue with that.

They made their way out of the hall, trying and failing to be sneaky and only pausing once or twice or seven times for kisses. Rhodey had informed them earlier that he’d be keeping Peter in his guest quarters for the next week, so after doing a cursory check to be sure, they stumbled past Peter’s quarters and into Tony’s—no, into _their_ quarters.

“Ours,” he told Steve, repeating it between fervent kisses. “Ours, this is ours—”

“Mhm,” Steve hummed his agreement into Tony’s mouth, kicking the door shut behind them.

“This is our room, Steve, we have a _room_ because we’re _married—”_

“Damn right we are.” Steve hoisted Tony up by his thighs, angling their hips together for a wonderful bit of friction as Tony locked his ankles around Steve’s waist. “And what d’you say we christen this union properly, huh?”

“I’d say that’s a good idea, husband.” Tony kissed down Steve’s neck.

“You think so, husband?” Steve started walking them to the bed.

“I think you’re talking too much, that’s what I think.”

“Guess maybe I ought to put my mouth to better—” Steve was cut off as he accidentally ran into the bed and they fumbled onto it, their heads bonking a little as Steve landed on him. They broke apart for a minute, laughing and rubbing their foreheads, Steve rolling onto his back so Tony could breathe properly. “That went smoother in my head.”

“Really?” Tony turned, faced Steve with a grin. “You know how to be smooth? When were you planning on showing me?”

“Hilarious.” Steve elbowed him.

“C’mere.” Tony rolled onto his side, swinging a leg over Steve so he could straddle him.

He bent down, about to give Steve a kiss, but something stopped him just short of it. He cupped Steve’s face instead and tilted his chin up, stroking his thumb over Steve’s cheeks and bottom lip, taking his time. Steve just smiled up at him, soft and adoring. There was so much love in his gaze Tony felt he might burst with it. He closed the gap between them, reciprocating with every ounce of love he could muster.

“Husband,” Tony murmured, pressing their foreheads together.

“Husband.” Steve ran his hands up Tony’s sides, drew him in close. “I’m going to be so good to you, sweetheart. I swear it.”

Tony couldn’t help laughing a little, gave him a peck. “Beloved, you don’t know how to be anything less.”

“Don’t I?” Steve pointed out, a lightness to his tone he wouldn’t have been able to manage just a few short weeks ago. Tony was grateful for it. To move forward, they had to be able to acknowledge the past without letting it hold them back. He carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, reassuring and affectionate.

“You’ve always had the best of intentions.” He smiled, teased, “And now you know that staying by my side trumps whatever other intentions you cook up in that head of yours. Yes?”

Steve gave a small laugh. “Yes.”

“Then we’ll be fine.” Tony kissed him, slow and sweet. “Better than fine. We’re going to be happy, Steve, so happy. Don’t you see that?”

“I do.” Steve nodded assuredly, promise in his voice as he sat them up, arms tight around Tony to keep him from sliding away. “I do, sweetheart.”

They wouldn’t get a proper honeymoon, Tony knew. The kingdom was still in recovery and there was Peter to consider, they could hardly go running off for a week. But though it’d be nice if they could, he couldn’t help thinking that they didn’t need to. Not really. To be together again was bliss alone, and to be married after so long…they didn’t need a honeymoon to be able to appreciate that.

Tony closed his eyes and felt out the contours of Steve’s face, tracing his fingers over the curve of Steve’s cheeks and the slope of his nose, the happy smile on his lips. Steve’s vows played over in Tony's mind. _I vow to stay._

“I got you and you got me,” Tony echoed the rest, opening his eyes with a smile. “For now and forever, beloved."

  
  
  
  



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